


Heirs and Graces

by Manchanification



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Any other combination of 2 men and 2 women, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Grief, Het, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Male Slash, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Relationship Goals, Sequel, Trespasser DLC, Who's The Daddy?, plots afoot, relationship troubles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12420996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manchanification/pseuds/Manchanification
Summary: A few months after their diplomatic stay at Skyhold, King Alistair and his wife, Elizabeth, make a bittersweet discovery that will re-shape their newfound relationship. Together with Inquisitor Artemis and Commander Cullen, they must find a way to manage their precarious situation.Sequel to Hero Worship.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, hello, lovely readers.
> 
> I'm going to make an assumption here that most of you have already read Hero Worship (if you haven't, please do, this fic will make a lot more sense if you do). With that in mind I feel its only fair to give you warning (warning's a bit strong a term but hey ho) that this sequel will be a little bit different to the setup of HW; Everything in HW was a build up to the main event; the sex scenes. With this fic, though there will certainly be sex scenes, they're not the point of the fic, so there (probably) won't be chapter upon chapter of smut. I hope that the plot, characters and their relationships will be enjoyable enough that the smut won't be too sorely missed.
> 
> Secondly, and this is a warning, because of the trespasser DLC content, there will be issues such as limb loss to deal with. I hope I can do the subject matter justice. There will also be some major other themes that will come into play later on (though I won't spoil these for now). Overall, there's a good chance that this fic will be a tad darker, heavier and angsty than the prequel, but I'll do my best to make it not just bearable, but enjoyable in the process.
> 
> Also a big thank you as always to my beta-reader 'The-lady-or-the-tiger', I can't say how much I appreciate you looking over my raw, unedited chapters.
> 
> Lastly, if you've taken the time to read HW and are looking to read this; thank you. I hope that you enjoy the story that I have planned :)

The River Dane Inn in Gwaren was not to be confused with the Dane River Inn, which sat on the banks of its namesake. Rather, the River Dane Inn was named in honour of the Hero of River Dane, who had once been the ruling Teyrn of Gwaren, a large but remote port town on the south eastern edge of the Kingdom of Ferelden.

The largest and most popular inn within Gwaren, The River Dane inn teemed with life most evenings, filled with passing sailors and townsfolk alike.

Tonight was no exception, patrons drifting in through the door as afternoon gave way to evening. Outside, the nip of early autumn air promised the first frost of the season, encouraging people inside all the earlier for the comfort of a warming fire and pleasant conversation.

Or more accurately, for the latest gossip.

Nestled in the corner of the inn, nearest to the hearth, a sailor, newly arrived, leans forwards conspiratorially to the rapt group of townsfolk that have clustered around him;

‘...from dusk to dawn, at it like nugs in heat!’ the seaman announces, taking a long pull of his ale.

‘For shame, ser, you shouldn’t speak of our betters so!’ a local woman scolds him.

‘To the void with your ‘betters’. Never known an honest day’s work in their lives. Ponces, all of them and yet you serve them. Me? I’m free, free of land and law, free of their rules and free to say whatever I want about them!’

‘The herald would never do such a thing! She’s as pure as Andraste herself. And the king and queen are heroes, not to mention loyal to each other! You’re talking nonsense.’

‘The Inquisitor’s been shacking up with her commander for nigh on three years from what I hear,’ another voice chimes in, and the woman turns to glare at him.

‘Hush, Geoffrey, what’d you know about the ways of the Inquisitor?’

‘I heard it myself! My sister’s husband’s brother serves the Inquisition. One of the soldiers. Said the king and queen had been spending all night with them.’

The woman scowls, rolling her eyes.

‘Your sister’s husband’s brother, really? May as well have had word from the horses in the stables.’

‘Tell yourself all you want, woman,’ the sailor growls, ‘but your ‘betters’ have been rutting like animals every moment they can get with each other.’

Voices rise, amusement and outrage, disbelief and lewd comments colouring the air. The topic, titillating as it is, captures the attention of everyone.

Unnoticed, an unremarkable figure rises from a quiet corner, straightens their cloak and glides from the inn’s common room.


	2. Politics

_“To our neighbors, Ferelden seems utterly chaotic. Unlike other monarchies, power does not descend from our throne. Rather, it rises from the support of the freeholders._

_Each freehold chooses the bann or arl to whom it pays allegiance. Typically, this choice is based on proximity of the freehold to the lord's castle, as it's worthless to pay for the upkeep of soldiers who will arrive at your land too late to defend it. For the most part, each generation of freeholders casts its lot with the same bann as their fathers did, but things can and do change. No formal oaths are sworn, and it is not unheard of, especially in the prickly central Bannorn, for banns to court freeholders away from their neighbors - a practice which inevitably begets feuds that last for ages._

_Teyrns arose from amongst the banns, warleaders who, in antiquity, had grown powerful enough to move other banns to swear fealty to them. There were many teyrns in the days before King Calenhad, but he succeeded in whittling them down to only two: Gwaren in the south, Highever in the north. These teyrns still hold the oaths of banns and arls who they may call upon in the event of war or disaster, and similarly, the teyrns still hold responsibility for defending those sworn to them._

__

__

_The arls were established by the teyrns, given command of strategic fortresses that could not be overseen by the teyrns themselves. Unlike the teyrns, the arls have no banns sworn to them, and are simply somewhat more prestigious banns._

__

__

_The king is, in essence, the most powerful of the teyrns. Although Denerim was originally the teyrnir of the king, it has since been reduced to an arling, as the king's domain is now all of Ferelden. But even the king's power must come from the banns._

__

__

_Nowhere is this more evident than during the Landsmeet, an annual council for which all the nobles of Ferelden gather, held for almost three thousand years except odd interruptions during Blights and invasions. The sight of a king asking for - and working to win - the support of "lesser" men is a source of constant wonder to foreign ambassadors.” ___

__

__

__

__

-From Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar

‘My apologies, your majesties, but I, and a number of other members of the bannorn simply don’t agree that the Inquisition can be trusted.’

In the year 9:43, Dragon, sat in his overly large throne at the head of the courtroom in Denerim palace, King Alistair sighs, squirms and sighs again, before leaning forwards to address the bann before him and his concerns;

‘Could you pinpoint exactly what it is about the alliance that concerns you, please?’

Bann Bronagan shifts from foot to foot, looking for all the world as though he’d like to be anywhere other than standing before his king and queen, representing Ferelden’s nobility.

‘The soldiers in Caer Bronach…’ 

‘Yes, yes,’ the king waves a hand impatiently, ‘military forces and all that, but there must be something else. No one batted an eyelid at the Inquisitor leaving supportive troops here until a few weeks ago.’

‘Some of the Inquisition’s troops have been running amok, your majesty, frightening the nobles and...speaking Orlesian.’

‘Well I imagine that’s probably due to a number of them being Orlesian. You can report any actual concerns to their commanding officer. If that does nothing then we’ll see about contacting Commander Cullen more directly to see if he can rein them in.’

‘I...with respect, King Alistair, I don’t believe you’re comprehending the situation fully. The Inquisition is an Orlesian order, they could be sneaking in spies all over Ferelden. And we let them roam unchecked because they’re “with the Inquisition”.’

‘If I may interject,’ the voice, low, female, comes from Queen Elizabeth, as she sits beside her king, ‘...the Inquisitor herself is a Free Marcher, her ambassador, Antivan. Her advisor is Nevarran and her commander Fereldan. Where, exactly, is the Orlesian threat? Not to mention that the Inquisition is an order of the Chantry, not Orlais. It’s headquarter’s location is incidental. Would you have misgivings if it dwelt in Haven, still?’

The bann offers a slight bow to his queen.

‘With the proximity to Orlais, it is easier for them to be influenced by Orlesian whims, my lady.’

‘In the Frostback Mountains?’ Elizabeth asks, incredulity colouring her voice. Beside her, her husband doesn’t bother to hide his snort of amusement.

The bann glances to his king before continuing, though not unperturbed as the other nobles in the room mutter to one another;

‘They have birds.’

‘As do we,’ the queen counters, allowing her exasperation to show through as she shakes her head. ‘No. These are all concerns we have heard before and have laid to rest. Tell us, what is your true concern in Ferelden continuing to have an alliance with the Inquisition?’

As she speaks, she glances to Alistair, watching him from the corner of her eye as he struggles to keep the frown off his face. 

Bann Bronagan pauses, uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot before he manages to regain control of his nerves, stilling himself. Around him, the rest of the court’s occupants, the nobles of Ferelden who cared to attend, fall silent too.

The bann clears his throat.

‘There have been...rumours, your majesties.’

Elizabeth’s heart falters in her chest, blood running cold and a chill down her spine. She straightens, attempting to look unflustered, lifting an eyebrow at the man.

‘And what is the nature of these rumours?’

As if she and Alistair didn’t know already, but she has to play along, to feign innocence at the words she knows are coming. 

Alistair remains silent in his adjacent throne, a fierce frown written onto his face.

‘I...ah…’ Bann Bronagan flushes now, uncomfortable, and Elizabeth pushes back her satisfaction at making him squirm.

‘If you lack the conviction to make your point,’ Alistair cuts in, voice smooth but firm, ‘then it seems to me that it’s not something you consider to be true. They are just rumours most of the time, you know?’

‘Yes, your majesty...you may well be right.’

‘Nevertheless, I’d like to hear the details of these rumours,’ Elizabeth counters, sending a glare to Alistair. He should know by now not to dismiss these things so easily.

The bann swallows again.

‘The...the rumours spoke of you both having a more...intimate relationship with the Inquisitor and her commander than is appropriate.’

And there it is, laid out plain before them and the court. Elizabeth watches from the corner of her eye as Alistair’s aging advisor, Eamon, stiffens in his seat, and she makes her decision;

‘And you believed it?’ she asks Bann Bronagan, her tone scathing. The man balks.

‘Not, not really, my lady. But we worry, for the sake of Ferelden, you see? We are only human...all of us.’

Alistair smiles.

‘True. We are, and I can well understand your concern. But do you think, after all we’ve given of ourselves to Ferelden, we would, either of us,’ he pauses to take Elizabeth’s hand, squeezing gently and she squeezes back, affection in the smile she graces him with, ‘would allow something as trivial as a tryst to jeopardise all we’ve achieved?’

‘I...no ser.’

‘Good,’ Alistair nods, pleased, before a sly smile curves his lips, ‘that will make it easier when the four of us shack up again in the future.’

Despite her familiarity with Alistair’s often irreverent sense of humour, Elizabeth doesn’t quite expect the blatantness of his joke and her jaw drops a little before she scolds him;

‘Alistair!’ She squeezes his hand again, harder this time, enough to pull his attention to her as the bann looks on with raise brows. ‘Do not jest on this.’

She turns to Bann Branagan.

‘It seems my king thinks the notion amusing. I can only assume because he deems it to be ridiculous. But please, my lord, be assured that we would not even entertain the notion.’

The noble eyes Alistair, whose laughter has finally subsided, warily before nodding to his queen.

‘We trust you both, my queen, to do right by the country. Please do not let our trust be misguided.’

Elizabeth nods, understanding, before sinking back into the light padding of her chair, looking to Alistair. Her husband smiles, a little sheepish, and turns to their approaching seneschal as the bann retreats.

‘That was the last for today, your majesty.’

Alistair nods and straightens as he stretches his back and stands, holding his hand to Elizabeth. She takes it, easing herself up to stand beside him.

‘Good,’ Alistair states. ‘Close the court. The queen and I will retire to our quarters for tea. Eamon, we’ll meet later.’

‘Very good, ser.’ The seneschal bows before helping Eamon up from his seat, the nobles that make up their audience following suit in shuffling out and Alistair leads Elizabeth from the room.

\--

Within the sprawling layout of Denerim palace, the royal quarters dominate the castle’s topmost floor, a series of rooms that creates a near maze within a maze. It’s a quality of the castle which means that Elizabeth could only name a handful of rooms that she and Alistair actually inhabited with any regularity.

When she had left Castle Cousland so many years ago as a young woman, she had thought that it must be wonderful to have so much choice, so much space and belongings dedicated to oneself. Now it seems to her a waste and she, along with Alistair, often extended invitations to those who need not necessarily reside in the palace to do so. It seemed practical to use the space, and it provided much needed life and warmth in the winter months. And so a number of rooms, positioned well away from their own to afford greater privacy, had been turned over to their personal staff, as well as their more important guests.

Because honestly, Elizabeth couldn’t imagine a scenario in which anyone would need two bedchambers, dressing rooms and associated wardrobes, bathrooms, offices, parlours and numerous antechambers. Each. Apparently the palace had been designed on the assumption that the reigning king and queen would wish to do everything in their lives with as little contact with their spouse as possible. Since that proved not to be the case with herself and Alistair, Elizabeth had requested her ladies in waiting make use of her suites, whilst the king’s suites were kept for themselves. An area that in itself was large enough to house several families. Sometimes, the thought of it made her nauseous.

And that was just in Ferelden. Where the luxuries that nobles enjoyed were modest in comparison to the rest of Thedas. The ‘splendour’ that Empress Celene lived in made her skin crawl.

With summer’s strength waning and autumn’s waxing, Alistair elects for them to take their afternoon tea in their living room and she’s glad for the decision, the cool air seeming to affect her more recently.

Servants have piled the small table that they favour with various small cakes and a teapot that still steams in the centre, and she sinks into her chair gratefully, nodding her thanks as the butler serves them both tea and then disappears to give them their privacy.

‘They’re getting increasingly adamant about the Inquisition,’ she comments, blowing on her tea to cool it before taking a sip. ‘I worry we shall not be able to defend our alliance much longer.’

Alistair swallows his mouthful of cake, looking at her curiously.

‘’Lis, it’s sorted. They won’t bother us about it again.’

‘Alistair, they’ve heard of our…’ she drops her voice, ‘...relations. If anyone decides to follow up on these rumours…’

‘Then they’ll find them to be just rumours, ‘Lis, because that’s all they are, right?’ his voice strains as he speaks. ‘Just rumours.’ 

She frowns.

‘I hope that will be enough. If anything happened to the Inquisition, Artemis and Cullen would be devastated.’

Alistair slows his chewing at her words, his expression thoughtful.

‘I know...Maker knows I’d like to tell the truth, everyone’s opinions be damned, but it would destroy everything the four of us have worked for. I’m not not taking it seriously, my love, I’m just trying to play this so convincingly that even I believe it’s true.’

She smiles at him, though worry taints it. He reaches for her hand.

‘It’ll be alright. It will blow over eventually.’

Concern still crowds her chest, but she nods, wanting to believe him, and distracts herself by reaching for a cake. Her favourites have been served today, a choice between cinnamon scrolls and cherry-almond tarts. She opts for the latter, knowing the sweetness will cheer her.

Except today, it seems, for as she takes a bite, her stomach lurches. The taste and scent seem entirely too sweet, and she sets it back onto a plate, wondering if the kitchen staff had changed the recipe. Taking a breath, she presses a hand to her stomach as it continues to churn.

‘My love?’ Alistair asks, voice laced with concern, his eyes wide.

She swallows back her nausea as best she can.

‘My apologies….my stomach is a little unsettled. Perhaps today’s events are more troubling than I first thought….or perhaps they have simply added to much sugar.’

Her husband frowns.

‘That’s not like you on either count...try some tea.’

She nods, taking a sip of the hot liquid. It seems more bitter than usual, but it washes the sweetness from her mouth and settles her stomach some.

‘I’ll just keep to the tea for now then. I should probably stay away from treats as it is.’

Elizabeth pats at her stomach. To her mind, it had seemed a little fuller as of late.

‘’Liz,’ Alistair scolds her lightly.

‘I’ll eat at dinner, don’t fret. Far better for me to have a meal than sugar and pastry anyway.’

At that Alistair places the second cake he’d picked up back on its stand, guilt creasing his features. She can’t help but laugh gently at the expression, like that of a chastened child.

‘Do not stop on my account. Besides, it seems as though your appetite has not been so robust recently. You’re not unwell, are you?’

He shrugs.

‘I just seem to get full quicker and this,’ he pats at his own belly, ‘...I should really try to keep in shape. It’s definitely getting harder though. I’m getting old, ‘Lis.’

‘You’re thirty four Alistair, hardly elderly.’

‘Well there’s more than a grey or two showing up despite my ‘youth’.’ He gestures at strawberry blonde locks and she nods absentmindedly. She couldn’t deny that she’s noticed the odd glint of silver in his hair recently.

‘You wound me, my lady,’ he jests, running a hand through his hair. 

‘I happen to think a little silver makes a man look quite distinguished. You won’t curry any less favour with the ladies for it.’

He grins, fine lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes and it makes her acutely aware of how quickly time passes these days.

‘Do you have any other matters to attend to this afternoon?’ he asks after a moment, guiding her attention to a more bearable topic.

‘No, I had thought to meet my ladies for cards, but they were all otherwise engaged.’

‘I thought your ladies were meant to wait on you. Hence the name.’

‘Well they are, but there’s only so much waiting on I need, especially from four women and within the castle walls too. Besides, they have their own lives, I’d not wish to take that from them.’

‘Then, would my beautiful wife care to accompany me in a stroll through the gardens?’

She smiles.

‘I believe she would.’

‘Then come, fair lady, and I shall regale you with the gossip of the day.’

‘Gossip? A king should be above such things,’ she jests, knowing how much Alistair loved to hear about what the servants got up to.

‘Aww but Ser Cedric was found asleep in the hog sty this morning and you won’t believe how he got there.’

Laughing, she takes Alistair’s hand and allows him to lead her from the room.

‘Then regale me, my king.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope that it's proving to be interesting. 
> 
> As always, I'm extremely grateful for any kudos, comments or concrit received :)


	3. Sowing Seeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :)

The scent of parchment and leather, strong, heavy, heady, was one that Alistair would never admit to liking, but in truth, loved dearly. As a child he hated libraries; they were prisons, somewhere to be quiet and reverential, a trait that never came naturally to him. The one at the Chantry had seemed particularly oppressive, crammed with other children and watchful priests and so much boredom.

When he had first entered his office at Denerim Palace, shortly after the Fifth Blight had ended, he had tried to run almost immediately, memories flooding back. Nowadays, despite the knowledge that his office meant work, and most often, boring work, it was something of a sanctuary for him. His seneschal and advisors avoided it, knowing that if he was there, it was because he was working on something.

He’d learnt within a few weeks of becoming king that it was a good place to bunk off. Ten years on, it was a good place to relax. He’d found, once he’d become accustomed to the room, that the scent kindled more pleasant memories; flashes of his youngest days, sat on the floor of Arl Eamon’s study, listening to the man read him tales of knights and dragons. It’s why his collection of toys sits on the shelves now; Grey Wardens and golems poised in eternal battle.

Yawning, Alistair stretches in his chair, before signing off his latest letter to Cullen and Artemis. There’s nothing particularly exciting in it, just an exchange of well wishes and such, but the act of staying in touch, even if there’s not much to say, makes him feel closer to them. It helps stave off the fear that their relations had been only a one time thing, a spur of the moment tryst, as the rumours implied.

He folds the letter, pushing it into a thick envelope and sealing it with a hot blob of wax and his signet ring before summoning a scribe to send the letter for him. Most of the time his scribes would write the letters for him, but when it comes to Cullen and Artemis, he needs to write the words himself or let Elizabeth write instead.

A soft knock raps at the door as the scribe sends the speckled pigeon they favour to carry messages to Skyhold on its way. Alistair calls for the person to enter and the door opens, the youngest of Elizabeth’s ladies in waiting standing awkwardly in the frame. She seems flustered, her cheeks high with colour, strands of her dark hair spiralling free of her bun.

‘Alana?’ he asks as the girl eases into the room. ‘Is everything well? Did Elizabeth send you?’

She offers a quick curtsey.

‘No, your majesty, the healer asked me to come. The queen didn’t wish to concern you, but she has been a little...unwell.’

Alistair is on his feet in a heartbeat.

‘Unwell? How unwell is unwell? Why does she need the healer? Is it that bad?’

Alana attempts to stammer out a response even as Alistair marches to the door.

‘Where?’

‘Your chambers, your Majesty.’

He pushes past her without wasting another second, shouting his thanks to the girl over his shoulder when he remembers, before all but running to his room. Large as the palace is, it takes him several minutes, and by the time he’s climbed the stairs to the upper floor he’s breathing hard.

It reminds him that he really should pick up his sparring sessions again, not that it’s relevant right now, and he rushes to the double doors that lead to a small antechamber, then a small drawing room, before reaching the main living space that he and Elizabeth use. 

There’s a small cluster of people present, guards at the edges of the room, Elizabeth’s other three ladies-in-waiting hovering behind the healer. In the high backed armchair that she favours, his wife sits, back ramrod straight, a mild scowl pulling at the scar that spans the left side of her face.

Alistair doesn’t like the way her skin seems waxy, washed out, and he slows to approach her.

‘My love?’ He pants and Elizabeth turns to face him. ‘Are you well? Alana said…’

‘An overreaction on her part.’

‘You don’t look well…’

‘I’m fine,’ Liz dismisses, waving their physician away as he attempts to take her hand, ‘honestly the worst ailment I am suffering from at this moment is mother hens clucking away at me.’

‘Liz, please…’

Liz’s lips purse and she eyes him lowly before relenting, and addressing the room;

‘This is a personal matter, you understand?’

The guards take the hint, bowing as best they can in their suits of armour before leaving. The ladies hover still, unsure as to whether the consultation that was to follow was something they would be privy to.

‘By ‘personal’, ladies, I mean myself, my husband and Ewan,’ she gestures at the physician. ‘I’ll disclose anything you need to know later.’

The three women glance to each other before curtseying and leaving the room. Alistair can only imagine what they’re going to gossip about even as he takes a seat beside his queen.

‘Now, your Majesty, Katherine said you had been feeling unwell?’ Ewan prompts.

Elizabeth remains tight lipped and Alistair reaches for her hand. Any weakness, or that which Elizabeth perceived as weakness, was difficult to make her share. Across the room, Barkspawn whines gently and Elizabeth sighs.

‘Yes, I have been feeling unwell,’ she states, her voice as devoid of emotion as she can make it and Alistair resists the urge to cajole her into telling the man what the problem is.

‘In what manner, my lady?’

‘Some...minor stomach pains, a headache...I have been somewhat...lightheaded this morning. I suspect it’s something I’ve eaten, perhaps something was undercooked. The pigeon pie was a little pink’.

Alistair shakes his head.

‘I had two helpings and not even a belly grumble.’

‘I’m so pleased for you darling,’ Liz replies, her tone scathing, and Alistair blinks in surprise. Whilst Elizabeth being sarcastic when displeased wasn’t a new thing, it was unusual for her to level it at him.

‘Liz?’

She sighs, rubbing at her scar for a moment.

‘Sorry. I...have been a little...tense recently.’

Alistair squeezes her hand gently and her shoulders drop, her back sagging, 

‘If I may ask, my lady, have you been feeling at all…’

The physician’s question is cut off as Elizabeth suddenly lurches to her feet and sprints for the bedroom, and Alistair bolts after her, just in time to bear witness to the sight of his wife retching into a, thankfully clean, chamberpot.

Easing down beside her, Alistair waits as patiently as he can, rubbing her back until the heaving stops and pulling her against his chest. She sags against him, wiping bile and saliva from her mouth with her wrist, staining the lace of her sleeve.

‘Has the nausea occurred before today, your Majesty?’ 

She nods at the question without meeting the physician’s gaze.

‘Yes, though it’s never been this strong before.’

‘And...if I may ask another, more delicate question…’

Elizabeth’s head snaps up and Alistair pulls away just in time to avoid being headbutted in the face.

‘You may not,’ she answers curtly, and Alistair can recognise when it’s sorrow that drives her fury, ‘I know what you think. It’s not possible. I’ll not entertain the idea only to have our hopes destroyed in a month or two.’ 

The physician swallows thickly before steeling himself to come back to the topic.

‘I can understand your hesitation, but your symptoms…’

Elizabeth climbs to her feet, waving away Alistair’s hand as he tries to help her, her eyes dark and fixed on the man before her.

‘No. I’ve told you it cannot be. If you’re concerned with my health then you’ll consider the more likely option that it’s something else.’

‘My lady, I’ve been your attending physician for years, I know the struggles you’ve faced to try and conceive. I wouldn’t suggest it unless I was reasonably certain.’

That gives Liz pause and Alistair takes the opportunity to take her hand. Long fingers curl around his, and his heart beats faster at the healer’s words, a sign of the false hope that Elizabeth doesn’t want them to feel.

‘There’s no way to tell though, is there? Just waiting to see?’ he asks and the healer looks uneasy.

‘There are various claims to methods that would indicate the presence of a child, your Majesty. I hear in Tevinter the magister use magic, though I would consider it far too risky, we can’t possibly know the effect of magic on such an early stage of life.’

‘So it’s magic or nothing?’

‘...there is another method that I’ve heard tell of. It seems to be relatively reliable. Although your majesties might find it somewhat...distasteful.’

‘I’ve endured my fair share of ‘distasteful’ over the years.Tell me,’ Elizabeth insists, and Alistair tries to quell the mixture of hope and fear rising in his chest. Elizabeth’s hand tightens in his.

The physician nods.

‘Some advise that soaking a mixture of wheat and barley grains in your...water, my lady, can provide some insight. The belief is that if the grains sprout, you are with child, and if they do not…’

‘You want me to…’

‘It is your decision, my lady.’

Elizabeth’s eyes, wide, incredulous, stray to meet Alistair’s, and he smiles back sheepishly, shrugging.

‘Guess it can’t hurt to try.’

His wife sends him a look that suggests that it might, but she looks to the skies and sighs before answering.

‘I cannot believe I’m considering this.’

Their physician offers a slight bow.

‘My reading suggests that using the freshest offering, that is, the first of the morning, is most reliable and to repeat the test over a five days. Results should be seen within a week of the first test.’

Elizabeth nods.

‘We’ hadd best ask the kitchens to keep some grains on hand then.’

\--

In the oddest turn of events that Alistair has experienced in a while, within his personal life at least, each morning for the next few days Elizabeth excuses herself to the bathing chambers, and shortly after the chambermaid retrieves the chamberpot and disappears. 

Elizabeth’s nausea does not abate, nor does her temper. If anything, a growing number of minor irritations seems to crop up each day, and after a week of urinating on seeds, her patience for the practice has all but frayed through.

It’s the scent of breakfast, a heap of scrambled egg and toast that turns her stomach this morning, and Alistair is dashing to follow her the moment she bolts for the pot in the bed chamber. She doesn’t make it this time, and he finds her crouched by the door between bed and ante chamber, shuddering, trying to avoid the small puddle of thin fluid on the floor.

He places a hand on her shoulder, guides her away from the mess, calling absentmindedly for someone to come and clean it up as she clambers onto the bed.

She inhales sharply, biting at her lower lip.

‘Liz?’

‘I...I would appreciate having some news now. It’s been days and if it’s not…’

He nods, knowing the words she couldn’t voice.

‘Just...hang in there, alright? I’ll go see him, find out what’s going on.’

‘If there was news, we would have heard it by now. It was foolish to believe that we had a chance.’

‘It was foolish to believe we had a chance at stopping the Blight. And we did that.’

‘Barely.’

‘And? You did that, Liz, and you found the cure…’

She sits up at his words, glaring.

‘No, I found something that I thought was a cure. Instead it seems I spent years away from your side for nothing. I wasted the time that we have together, Alistair.’

He smiles sadly, taking her hand as she glares out of the window, watching yellow silk curtains flutter in the breeze;

‘Nothing you ever do is wasted, my love.’

There’s a quiet knock at the door, and a maid creeps in, bucket in hand as she cleans up the mess on the floor. Elizabeth flushes, watching the girl from the corner of her eye, even as their physician appears in the doorway. Alistair has to fight the urge to leap to his feet and shake some answers out of the man, opting instead to tighten his grip on his wife’s hand. His gesture is returned in full.

‘Good morning your Majesties,’ he greets, stepping around the maid. ‘Your stomach has not settled then, my lady?’

‘It has not,’ she answers abruptly, her grip still tight.

‘Ah. Well, I’m afraid to say, my queen, that you may have to endure it for sometime longer.’

Frustration that borders on anger bubbles in Alistair’s chest at the man’s flippant comment and he turns to bark at him, only to be cut short by the sight before him.

Ewan stands a few feet from them, a smile that’s between smug and delighted on his lips, as he holds a small plate in front of him. There’s a handful of grains on it, dampened kernels that have each sprouted a tender green stem.

Breath catches in Alistair’s chest, and he can’t move, can’t speak, for fear he’ll break the moment, that it will somehow crumble and collapse in front of him. The only motion he can make is to glance to Liz, finding her gaze fixated on the grains. There’s no colour in her face, but he suspects it has nothing to do with her recent nausea this time.

He swallows thickly.

‘This...they...this...this is real? You’re not joking?’

‘I wouldn’t dare joke about this, your Majesty. I’ve kept these under close watch, no one has had access to them but I.’ 

He swallows again, breathing heavily, heart pounding and reaches for the plate. Ewan relinquishes it, stepping back with a small bow.

‘Liz,’ Alistair’s voice cracks as he speaks, looking from the grains to his wife, ‘Liz, we’re, I mean you’re…’ he can’t find the strength to say the word and he watches as she reaches out, taking a seedling from the plate.

She rolls it between shaking finger and thumb, tracing the tiny fleck of green with reverence before replacing it on the plate. Her lower lip trembles, eyes blinking rapidly and he seizes her with his free arm, crushing her to him. There’s hot air at his ear, his wife’s breath coming in short bursts as her whole frame shudders, her hands twisting in his shirt.

‘It worked, Liz, it worked…’

She doesn’t reply, managing only a slight nod, and he presses her to him even further. Someone eases the plate from his grip and he wraps his newly freed arm around her, rocking them.

‘We did it. We did it.’ He can hear his voice cracking, can feel tears on his cheeks and he doesn’t care, lost in a wave of joy and relief, excitement and pride warring in his chest. He can’t say which emotion he feels most, doesn’t care which it is, pulling back to press kiss after kiss to Liz’s cheeks, forehead, lips. She’s shedding her own tears, quieter than he, refined and graceful as always, and when he pulls back fully to look at her, her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes the brightest and clearest shade of blue they’ve ever been.

‘We did it,’ she echoes, as lost and elated as he. ‘We’re going to be parents.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you lovely people for all your kind words and kudos, always super grateful for feedback from yourselves :)


	4. Bittersweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

They agree not to tell anyone. Not yet.

When shock and elation ease, when heartbeats have calmed and tears have dried, Elizabeth and Alistair turn their attention to the practicality of their situation.

‘We...we must not get ahead of ourselves,’ Elizabeth reasons, meeting Alistair’s amber gaze, trying to take a sip of tea to calm herself. Ewan left their side only a few minutes after breaking the news, giving them a moment to themselves, to collect their wits once more. Her heartbeat still isn’t calmed, but she’s getting there. The tea they ordered has only just finished brewing, after all.

Her husband nods, understanding, the excitement flooding through him making his head bob comically.

‘Yes, yes. We should wait a while, let things...develop, right? Check that everything,’ he gestures at her belly, ‘...is going well. That’s the practical thing to do, isn’t it?’

She nods, taking a sip, before grinning.

‘But...I suppose...those we trust most dearly…’

The notion that the pregnancy is still so early, that they had no proof but seeds and sickness, should dampen her joy. So too should the knowledge that pregnancies often did not run smooth, that women and babies died before or during birth, that they had no idea what to expect. To her knowledge, she was the first female warden to ever fall pregnant. There was no telling how her body would react to a babe. Her rational mind reasons, yet her heart doesn’t care.

‘Your brother,’ Alistair suggests, gripping a flagon of weak ale in one hand, ‘he’ll be delighted. He should know...’

‘And Teagan,’ Elizabeth adds. ‘He’s the closest thing you have to a family. We can trust him to stay quiet.’

Her husband nods, taking a long drink, his familiar broad grin returning immediately, his eyes lighting as a notion forms, and she reaches it at the same time.

‘Artemis and Cullen…’

There’s a bittersweetness to that thought, wishing that their lovers were there with them to discover their news, to share their joy.

‘We should write to them at once. Did you already send the bird?’

‘I did, last week. She should be back soon though, and if not, we can use another.’

‘No, it has to be her. The news is too sensitive to risk it not reaching Skyhold. Can you imagine if it fell into the wrong hands? The conclusions that people would draw…’

She trails off, realisation dawning on her and she halts in sipping at her tea, meeting Alistair’s gaze. The colour has drained from his face.

‘...Cullen,’ he murmurs.

‘It...it’s unlikely,’ she tries to reason, swallowing to try and stop fear colouring her voice, even as her stomach begins to knot, ‘...I could have fallen pregnant before we even arrived there.’

‘Ewan said a month at most, Liz, a month ago we were...there.’ He stands, abruptly beginning to pace, hands fluttering as he speaks, ‘...and what if it’s not me. The cure’s worked on you, but it doesn’t mean it would work on me. We’ve got no way of knowing, Liz!’

‘If it’s worked on me there’s no reason it wouldn’t work on you,’ she rationalises.

‘But if it’s not…’ the panic in his voice gives way to resignation, disappointment and her heart twists at his expression, ‘...if the baby isn’t mine…’

She stands, approaches him, heart twisting again as he pulls away from her. He’s never pulled away from her before.

‘If I’m not the father, Liz, what do we do?’

‘We...we have to assume it is. It was as much you and I as myself and Cullen...there’s as much chance…’

‘But if it’s not?!’ he demands, and she falls still and silent under Alistair’s glare, not knowing how to answer. 

‘We should have been more careful…’ he mutters, anger fading under sorrow, his voice a hollow lament, ‘...we shouldn’t have been so stupid to think it would all be alright.’

Elizabeth crosses to her husband, trying again to comfort him, relieved when he doesn’t pull away this time. 

‘...we can’t know. I wish we could but we can’t. I hope…’ she pauses, swallows back her fear before meeting Alistair’s eyes, ‘I hope for all our sakes that it’s yours.’

‘I don’t suppose Ewan will have anymore pee-divination plants.’

She smiles, the expression not touching her eyes.

‘I suspect not. We must...we must hope, and act as though nothing is amiss.’

He nods, fatigue slowing his motions suddenly.

‘If the Bannorn has reason to suspect anything more about the whole business...’

‘We needn’t tell them anything yet. We keep to the plan. We don’t make an announcement until we have to. Two months. We have two months. The situation will have calmed by then. We needn’t act yet.’ 

The notion helps calm her, and he takes her hands.

‘If it’s mine...or if it’s his, we do what’s right for you and the babe. And...and Cullen. If need be.’

‘We can’t make any decisions. Not yet.’

He nods, turning away to sink into his chair, covering his eyes with a hand, trying to collect himself before he looks up at her.

‘Whatever happens, I love you. Nothing will change that, Liz. Nothing.’

She knows. She’s known it to be the case from the first time he ever uttered the words to her, and she approaches him, kneeling before him to take a hand and kiss his knuckles.

‘And I, you. Always.’

He smiles thinly, pulling her into his arms, and she curls against him, enjoying the warmth and comfort his embrace always brings. A large hand settles on her flat belly, thumb stroking.

‘Always,’ he murmurs, pressing his lips to hers, fear and desperation in his kiss as he pulls her to him. 

As has become usual for them, a knock at the door breaks their private moment and Alistair sighs.

‘Enter!’

The door opens, Ewan appearing, and Elizabeth untangles herself from Alistair’s lap, ready to discuss the details of the pregnancy with him.

\--

In the days following the revelation of her pregnancy, Elizabeth isn’t quite sure what to do with herself. She itches to share her news with her ladies, but commits herself to silence on the subject in their presence. It would likely not take long for them to come to their own conclusions, but she couldn’t afford to confirm them, not yet.

She paces the floors of Alistair’s office, scattered pieces of parchment littering his desk. Alistair coaxes her to his chair.

‘Well...we’ve got the letter to your brother written. That’s a good start. Teagan is easy enough to tell.’

‘And then we just have to tell our lovers that I may be pregnant with Cullen’s child. I can’t imagine that will cause any difficulties at all.’

Alistair lifts an eyebrow at her sarcasm.

‘Apologies. My anxiousness is getting the better of me.’

‘We’ve got the meeting in a moment, we’ll have to come back to it afterwards.’

She nods, remembering that there had been rather demanding requests for them to meet the bannorn again. It was unusual for so many of the nobles to wish to meet again so soon, more so that most of them had not yet returned to their holds. The notion makes her uneasy.

‘Yes, I suppose some time away might give us some inspiration,’ she comments, trying not to let her concern show.

Alistair offers his hand, helping her up, and she wonders for a moment why he even made her sit. Shaking the thought from her mind, she links her arm through his and he kisses her forehead, leading her from the office. Their seneschal, Denethal, joins them as they enter the antechamber at the back of the throne room.

‘Your Majesties.’ He bows. ‘Everyone is in attendance. I must warn you, the mood amongst the banns is...not positive.’

Alistair sighs.

‘What is it now?’

The door creaks open as Arl Teagan eases into the room, looking somewhat harried.

He raises his eyebrows at his rulers, offering his slight bow.

‘I hope you’ve got a rousing speech planned,’ Teagan states, confirming Denethal’s warning. ‘The bannorn is in a foul mood.’

‘Do you know what’s caused it, Teagan?’

The man adjusts his collar.

‘The rumours that you’ve no doubt heard of…’

‘Oh yes,’ Alistair drawls, ‘Our ‘special relationship’ with the Inquisitor and her commander.’

‘Indeed,’ Teagan sniffs, ‘some feel that the answer you gave them was a tad...dismissive. There’s concerns that you’re not taking the matter seriously and for some, that paints you as guilty.’

‘Maker’s sake,’ Elizabeth breathes, anger coiling with fear in her chest.

‘Quite, my lady. I’m afraid you may need to take action today. Something to ease the concerns of the nobility.’

Elizabeth glances to Alistair, trying to mask her fear as she does. His own worry colours his gaze as he looks to her.

‘I suppose we should get out there and sort this out, then.’

‘We should, before this can get any further out of hand.’

Denethal and Teagan bow, making their way back into the courtroom, taking their positions on either side of the two thrones. Elizabeth follows, on Alistair’s arm. There was always a thrill that ran through her when she entered a full court. Today it brings dread, fear that they couldn’t contain the situation setting her nerves on edge.

She sinks into her smaller throne as Alistair does, rearranging the skirts of her dress as she does so. The action gives her a moment to collect her thoughts, to calm herself.

‘My Lords and Ladies of Ferelden,’ Alistair starts, his voice steady as he lifts it above the murmurs in the hall, ‘thank you for attending. I appreciate that it has only been a short time since we last gathered, and most of you I’m certain are eager to return to your families and your lands.’

He pauses, attempting to read the room’s reaction to his words. There are some quiet murmurs of agreement, though most of the nobles seem unaffected by Alistair’s amiability.

‘With that in mind,’ he continues, and looks to Denethal, ‘let’s get on with the proceedings, shall we?’

Denethal offers a polite bow.

‘Of course, my king.’ He turns to address the hall. ‘Representing the bannorn, Bann Bronagan.’

The bann who had addressed them at the last meeting steps forwards from the other nobles, offering a short bow as he approaches.

‘Your Majesties, thank you for agreeing to meet with us again. I’m sure you’re aware of our reasons for requesting another meeting.’

‘Let’s suppose we’re not, just for the sake of clarity.’ Elizabeth lifts her chin as she speaks, making sure she meets the Bann’s gaze.

Bann Bronagan nods, no hint of the unease he had shown last time.

‘A number of the Bannorn feel that our concerns around the Inquisition were not properly addressed, my lady. We wish to re-iterate our concern and our alarm in the face of your...nonchalance towards the situation.’

‘Nonchalance is most certainly not our position on the matter,’ Elizabeth soothes. ‘The discussions with the inquisitor and her ambassador during our visit established the terms of our continuing alliance. The Inquisition’s soldiers are supporting those areas that our own forces struggle to defend. I would take Inquisition soldiers over raiders and bandits. Do you disagree?’

‘No, my lady, but what do we pay to the Inquisition for the services rendered?’

‘Money. Or did you think we were serving them with favours?’

The bann wears a wry smile at her comment.

‘Surely the money would be better spent on training our own people to be soldiers? There are those who are unemployed.’

Beside Elizabeth, Alistair taps his fingers against the arm of his throne.

‘Training soldiers takes time, Bann Bronagan,’ Alistair drawls. ‘Finding and training suitable candidates to be soldiers takes even longer. We will increase the numbers within the standing army, but the Inquisition's soldiers are providing the numbers we need in the meantime.’

‘And if the Inquisition turns on us? Ferelden will be at their mercy.’

‘The Inquisition has never given any indication that they’re interested in invading,’ Elizabeth answers.

‘With all respect, Queen Elizabeth, nor did Rendon Howe.’

Her breath catches at the comment, a combination of shock and rage at the audacity of the man, followed swiftly by the guilt and sorrow that always curls in her at the thought of her parents. She’s dimly aware of her fingers curling against the wood of her throne, but Alistair is already on his feet.

‘Apologise,’ he snarls, towering over the man, ‘now.’

Bronagan, to his credit, stands his ground under the weight of Alistair’s glare, though he has the good grace to look unnerved. His eyes dart to her and she meets them coolly, working to keep her expression calm.

‘My apologies, your Majesties, the comparison was uncalled for. I mean not to cause any...upset.’

Alistair’s jaw works, as if trying to decide whether or not to push the issue.

‘Enough. Continue with your point,’ Elizabeth snaps, and Alistair pulls back, returning to his throne, glowering at the bann.

‘Thank you, my lady. As I’ve said before, the bannorn feels that, even if their intentions are as noble as they portray, their proximity to people of influence in Orlais is too great a risk.’

‘So the bannorn considers the aid previously provided to be of no value?’

‘We appreciate the aid that the Inquisition provided, but they are not a charity. We cannot assume that someone with such power is doing this out of kindness, or that they are not open to corruption.’

They’re fighting a losing battle, Elizabeth can see that. So too can Alistair, she suspects when she’s met with a concerned glance from him. And if she were honest, were she in the bannorn’s position, she would likely have the same concerns.

‘We understand why you say what you do,’ she concedes, ‘we will request the Inquisition withdraw their troops, under the condition that you provide a number of your own guard to replace the numbers we will lose.’

The bann smiles amiably, and the way he does so makes her skin crawl as he shakes his head.

‘My apologies, again, your majesties, but I fear your don’t fully understand the position of the Bannorn. We aren’t looking to reduce the Inquisition’s influence over us. As long as it exists, with an army the size it currently has, we wish to see the Inquisition gone, so that it cannot pose a threat any longer.’

Elizabeth’s chest grows tight the longer he speaks, shock rendering her unable to do anything but think of Cullen and Artemis, and how they would respond to the news. It takes her a moment to realise Alistair is speaking;

‘...utterly mad? The Inquisition’s been invaluable in ensuring that Orlais hasn’t shown any hostility to us in the past few years. Were it not for them Gaspard would be emperor and we’d have the Orlesian army breathing down our necks!’

Murmurs run through the crowd, and Elizabeth folds her hands in her lap, composing herself.

‘This is no small matter to request…’

Bann Bronagan’s amicable demeanour sheds from his face.

‘Are you suggesting that the monarchy is not up to the task of running the country unaided?’ He turns his gaze to Alistair. ‘Or does your reluctance stem from the overfamiliarity with the Inquisition that you’re trying so hard to deny?’

‘You’ve made your point,’ Alistair snarls, the sound low in his chest. ‘The queen and I will discuss the matter privately.’ He stands, makes to sweep from the room only to pause and offer his hand to her.

Elizabeth takes the offered palm, disliking the way her hand feels clammy in his, letting him lead them from the room and back into the antechamber. 

‘Well this is going terribly,’ he comments as soon as the door is shut behind them. Her husband paces, teeth worrying his lower lip. Elizabeth is inclined to agree, and her head spins with the ramifications.

Bronagan has them backed into a corner, and has done so with alarming and suspicious efficiency. There’s something else at work here, but what, she can’t say. That in itself needles at her, but more worryingly, it leaves her unable to see a way out.

Alistair halts in his pacing to look at her, brow furrowed.

‘Liz?’ 

She lifts her gaze to meet his, his dark eyes widened with concern as he shakes his head.

‘How are we going to get around this?’

She has no answer. For every major problem that has come up in her life thus far, there’s been an answer, a workaround, even if only a tenuous one. They both survived the Blight because of Morrigan’s offer, they had even, perhaps, managed to beat the Taint. Now, with a problem caused by another human, she comes up empty-handed. 

It stings.

‘Liz?’ Alistair asks again, and she shakes her head slowly.

‘I...I don’t know.’

He blinks, once, twice, as if confused, before his familiar lopsided smile curves his lips.

‘Come on Liz, you’ve got an answer in that beautiful head of yours somewhere.’

Tears prickle at her eyes and she tosses her head, unable to mask her despair at the situation.

‘Alistair...if the shoe were on the other foot...I would be saying the same thing. Without knowing what we know...the Inquisition is a very real threat.’

He frowns, bites his lip again before rubbing at his stubble.

‘...what...what if we came clean? Admitted that we’re with them and that’s how we know it’s safe....’ 

The tone of his voice suggests that he already knows the answer, desperation forcing him to seek any solution. 

‘Then at best we will be seen as compromised and unfit to rule. At worst...they could accuse us of treason for leaving us open to attack. I need not tell you the punishment the bannorn would lay on us. They would not be so forgiving as you were with Anora.’

‘Liz…we can’t…we can’t demand the Inquisition disband. It’ll kill Artemis and Cullen...they’ve worked so hard…’

‘We do not have a choice, Alistair. If this is truly what the bannorn wishes, we are duty bound to see that wish through.’

She sinks into a nearby chair, exhaustion suddenly forcing her down and she hides her face in her hands, unwilling to acknowledge the situation before her, if only for a moment. She can hear Alistair pacing again.

‘No, no, no, no, no. I won’t do this, I won’t betray them like this,’ Alistair mutters. ‘We have to make them see reason. I can...I can say it was my fault. Leave you to rule…’

‘And what would I do on my own?’ She reaches her hand out for him and he stops in his pacing to take it, sinking to his knees before her and burying his head in her shoulder. ‘Even if there were any practicality to it, I would not wish to live a moment more without you by my side, my dearest.’

He nods weakly against her shoulder and she curls her arms around him, wrapping her fingers in softly copper hair.

‘They’ll hate us for this.’

‘Yes, I suspect they will.’

There’s a soft puff of air against her shoulder as Alistair sighs before he pulls back, meeting her eyes again, his gaze brightening for a moment.

‘What if we put it to a vote? Surely not all of the bannorn will oppose the Inquisitions’ presence.’

‘It is possible,’ she hums, ‘though I suspect Bronagan is representing the largest portion of the bannorn.’

‘It’s the only hope we have.’

‘I agree. But…’

‘Don’t hope too much. I know.’ He pulls back, a grim smile on his lips that doesn’t touch his eyes. It’s the expression he wore as they had climbed Fort Drakon over a decade ago, and one she had hoped never to see again.

Alistair takes her hand once more, and she stands with him, linking their arms as they always did to re-enter the throne room. The murmuring of the crowd halts as they enter and retake their place on their respective thrones.

‘In the interest of fairness, and assurring that all in the bannorn have had their say on the matter,’ Alistair begins, ‘we will vote. Does that seem acceptable to the bannorn?’

There’s a few cries of ‘aye’ from the multitude of faces in the room and Bann Bronagan nods.

‘I see no reason as to why not, your Majesty.’

Elizabeth watches as her husband summons Denethal forth.

‘If you could guide the proceedings please,’ Alistair requests. Denethal offers a short bow in agreement before taking his place on the opposite side of the dais to Bronagan.

‘The court has heard the case for and against the presence of the Inquisition within our lands!’ the man announces. ‘Those in favour of a continued alliance, make yourselves known.’

Elizabeth grips the arms of her throne as voices rise in the room, shouts in favour. Amongst them, she recognises her brother’s seneschal in his stead, Teagan too, along with Sighard and Alfstanna, always loyal after the aid she and Alistair had provided years ago. But few others, she realises, and her heart sinks. It won’t be enough.

As Denethal tallies the counts in favour, then calls for those who oppose to voice their stance, it becomes painfully clear.

Next to her, Alistair exhales, long and slow, trying to control his temper even as Denethal closes the vote.

‘The bannorn has spoken in favour of disbanding the Inquisition!’

This, she realises, is what Loghain must have endured at the Landsmeet. Though, at least her and Alistair’s heads were safe, so long as they complied.

‘The bannorn has spoken,’ Alistair mutters, shaking his head and glancing to her. With white knuckled fists her king grips the arms of his throne as he raises his voice once more.

‘The crown recognises the will of the bannorn.’ He grits his teeth. ‘Ferelden’s position will be made known to the Divine. We will request the Inquisition be dissolved, with immediate effect.’

He swallows thickly, even as Bann Bronagan bows.

‘The bannorn thanks you for serving Ferelden, your Majesties.’

Alistair mutters something beneath his breath, so quietly even Elizabeth can’t hear. She loosens her fingers from the arm of her chair, finding her hands to be sore from gripping.

‘I am under the impression that concludes the business of this meeting, yes?’

The Bann bows again.

‘Yes, my lady.’

She nods and half listens as Denethal closes the court. As she and Alistair rise from their seats, the bannorn kneels and she links her arm through her husband’s as they leave the room. Behind them, the nobles rise and begin to file out.

Guards open doors for them as they enter the antechamber once more and Alistair collapses into a nearby chair, grabbing at a goblet of wine before staring dark eyed at the closed door to the throne room.

‘Let’s hope Leliana can see a way out of this for us.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for any kudos, comments bookmarks and subscriptions, always appreciated :)


	5. Mixed Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Artemis receive some unwelcome news and action must be taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating. Have a *slightly* longer chapter than usual to make up for it.

In the lofty master bedroom of Skyhold’s keep, Inquisitor Artemis Trevelyan paces endlessly, her shadow fluttering across walls and drapery in the warm candlelight. Parchment crumples between her fingers, ink smudging until she scrunches the note into a ball, tossing it aside and turning her glare on her commander.

‘What do they mean we’re required to attend the Exalted Council? Why?’

Cullen, it seems, has no answer either, staring down at the letter in his hand. The parchment is high quality, embossed and gilded with the Chantry’s crest. An official summons from Divine Victoria to attend at The Winter Palace, just three weeks from now. They would have to leave within a few days.

‘And what about that?’ she points at the ball of parchment she’s tossed aside. ‘What does Alistair mean ‘we need to talk’? Did they do this? Is it something else? I don’t…’

‘I know no more than you, my love,’ Cullen answers as her questions hang in the air, ‘but whatever comes of this, we will weather it.’

He places the letter on the desk, crossing to her and pulling her close, arms pressing her to his chest.

‘I don’t understand any of this.’

Cullen’s large hand winds into her hair, stroking gently, soothing, and Artemis feels the tightness in her chest ease a little.

‘We can sort this out,’ he murmurs. ‘We’ll speak to Josephine, she will be able to explain everything, and then we can write to Alistair and Elizabeth, try to establish some less, ah, cryptic, communication.’

‘Do you think it’s related...his note? Or just something else, some coincidence?’

‘I have no more idea than you, though I hope for the latter.’

‘They wouldn’t do anything to us…’ Artemis reasons. ‘We have a strong ally in them. This has to be the Orlesians’ work.’

‘We should not be too quick to jump to any conclusions.’

She nods. He’s right of course, and she feels a little better, comforted by his calm and the plan he’s laid before them.

The urgent knocking on the door that begins moments later, all but shatters that.

‘Inquisitor! Commander! I must speak with you at once.’ 

The voice is muffled by the thick wood of the door and Artemis sighs to herself.

‘Now what?’

‘This had best be important!’ Cullen calls, and that’s all the person at the door needs to enter.

Gasping breaths meet their ears and Artemis stands with Cullen, watching skeptically until Josie’s familiar black curls appear. Her normally well groomed tresses have come loose from her bun, her golden collar askew.

‘Inquisitor, commander, my apologies,’ she pauses taking a breath at the top of the stairs and Artemis guides her into a chair to sit, ‘I would leave the matter til morning, but I am somewhat alarmed.’

‘If it’s that important, best we see to it now,’ Cullen answers, setting to brewing tea. There’s a firm frown written onto his face.

Josie nods.

‘We have received a letter, from Most Holy, a summons…’

‘To the Exalted Council,’ Artemis finishes, and Josie inclines her head, confirming her words.

‘Yes. You have received your own correspondence then?’

‘Yes, but there were no details as to why. Just when and where.’

‘Ah, Leliana had left it to me to explain then, how kind of her,’ Josie murmurs, fixing her hair and accepting the tea that Cullen presents her with. ‘For the sake of simplicity, suffice to say that Orlais and Ferelden both have very different ideas about the Inquisition and its future. Neither of which are good for us.’

‘Meaning?’ Cullen prompts. ‘She’s kept Orlais off our backs for years now, what’s changed?’

‘At increasing political cost, which can be endured no more. Orlais wishes to control the Inquisition, a jewel in the empire’s crown, so to speak. But that is nothing new. Our real concern, it seems, is Ferelden. They have expressed to Divine Victoria their desire to see the Inquisition disbanded.’

‘What?!’ the question comes jointly, from both Artemis and Cullen, anger and incredulity colouring their voices. 

‘But they were here, just weeks ago and they were fine, they were happy…’ Artemis sputters. ‘What’s changed?’

Beside her, she can all but feel Cullen seething.

Josie shakes her head.

‘I cannot say. As you said, they seemed very pleased when they departed. I suspect the will of the Bannorn may be more involved here than just King Alistair and Queen Elizabeth’s opinions, though I could not say for certain.’

‘Blast it,’ Cullen curses, striding away.

‘So what do we do?’ 

‘For now? Nothing. We make preparations to leave as soon as possible. The council will not appreciate us being tardy and we must present ourselves as best we can. I will see if I can glean anything from my contacts, but I suspect we are mostly alone this time.’

‘I see.’ Artemis exhales. ‘Thank you, Josie. You should get some rest while…’

The flash of brilliant green light and sudden pain lancing through her arm renders Artemis speechless and she gasps, gripping her wrist with her unaffected palm. Cullen is at her side in an instant, gripping her shoulders, as Josie stands helpless. Artemis knows they’re speaking to her, concern in the tones of their voices, but she can’t make out the words.

Her eyes are watering, breath coming in gasps and pants, hot flashes of searing pain travelling to her elbow, intense and unrelenting until, with a sputter, the anchor stops, plunging the room back into dull yellow.

Her hearing, or rather, her ability to acknowledge what she’s hearing, returns as the pain recedes and she looks to her advisors, blinking back tears.

‘Artemis, are you alright?’ Cullen’s voice is hushed with concern. Josie hovers, hands wringing.

‘Can I get you anything, Inq...Artemis?’ her ambassador asks, and the sound of her name in Josie’s lyrical accent jolts her attention.

‘...water...water would be good.’

‘Of course.’ 

The woman scampers away to complete the task as Cullen helps Artemis to her feet.

‘You should rest,’ he murmurs, guiding her towards the bed as she leans against him. Part of her mind urges her not to show weakness, the other appreciates the concern, and she lies on the bed awkwardly as Josie brings a glass of water.

‘I do not like that this is becoming a regular occurrence,’ Cullen takes a breath and Artemis nods briefly as she takes sips of water.

‘We could seek aid. I could contact some healers…’

‘I don’t think most healers are equipped to deal with fade anchors,’ Artemis answers, as gently as she can. There’s nothing to be done, and they all know it. ‘It’s fine...I can deal with it. It won’t kill me.’

‘We can’t know the long term effect, Artemis,’ Cullen urges. ‘We should see if we can find someone. Perhaps Morrigan…?’

‘We have bigger concerns for now. We need to attend the council first. We can look into it after that.’

That’s the end of discussion, as far as she’s concerned, and she’s thankful when the other two agree, though she can see that Cullen’s not entirely satisfied with the answer. 

‘As you wish. I will leave you to rest,’ Josie excuses herself, wishing them a goodnight. 

Cullen’s frown only deepens after the woman has left and he turns his attention to Artemis.

‘You should not have to endure this Artemis, we need to find a solution.’

‘We will, Cullen. But...not now.’ She rolls onto her side, avoiding his attempt at meeting her gaze. ‘I...just need to rest for now. I’ll be alright.’

‘...I couldn’t bear to lose you, you know…’

That grabs her attention and she rolls over to look at him, ignoring the twinges in her palm.

‘...is that what you think will happen? You fear it’s going to kill me?’

He looks almost guilty at her question but his honesty wins out.

‘...You are stronger than anyone I have ever know, Artemis, I know you can endure anything. But this...the anchor is unlike anything anyone has ever encountered.’

She reaches for him, pulling him into her arms and he nestles into her, the fur of his collar tickling her nose.

‘We’ll look into it, Cullen, I promise. You won’t lose me. I have no desire to go anywhere either.’

‘After the council?’

‘After the council,’ she agrees, pressing in close to him and letting sleep claim her.

\--

Their journey to the Exalted council is not a pleasant one, though it passes quickly Artemis finds, her thoughts too focused on what lies ahead to consider much else. It’s a sentiment that’s shared by both Josephine and Cullen too, tempers high and moods tense. The anchor doesn’t help matters, seeming to flare up more and more regularly. She can’t remember the last time a day went by without it doing so. She tries to ease her advisors’ concerns with smiles and gentle reassurances that she’s fine, but Cullen at least can see the mask cracking. 

She fears the anchor may yet claim her life, as it should have done when she first received it. And yet there are more pressing concerns to worry about, as always. The Orlesians and Fereldans that throng the long walkway to the Winter Palace being two among them.

Keeping her chin up as best she can, Artemis leads her two companions down the grand parade towards the palace, handing her mount off to a groom as soon as he approaches, pleased that she manages not to fumble her dismount. She would have to thank Elizabeth for that, if they managed to meet again.

Or...perhaps not, depending on how the council proceeds.

She’s barely finished dusting herself off from the ride when a runner approaches her with a list as long as her arm of people who wish to speak with her. Among them is Mother Giselle, whom she’s not seen in years and as Divine Victoria is currently busy, the other woman seems like a good place to start.

Their meeting is brief, but welcome, a breath of fresh air before she sinks into the cesspit of nobility and politics. It provides some insight too, and a chance to get to grip with her own thoughts and feelings on the matter.

‘Some of your friends have decided to attend too. You should visit them while you have the chance,’ the woman advises as they part.

Artemis has every intention of following that advice. It had been merely a few months since her friends had last gathered for the ball, but it seems an age ago. It would be nice to speak with them again, perhaps for the last time for some of them, though she hopes not.

But first, she needs to speak with Leliana. Leaving the audience chamber, she makes her way through the maze of the palace rooms and into the garden. A guard points her in the right direction, up towards the gardens that stretch eastwards, and sure enough, after passing through crowds of nobles and clergy members, she finds the Divine. She’s speaking to a man that Artemis doesn’t recognise, though he’s clearly a nobleman from the finery he wears, and as she nears she does manage to recognise his accent. Fereldan. 

She doesn’t wait for an invitation from either of them, walking up to Leliana, though she does offer a short bow to them both.

‘Divine Victoria, I do hope I’m not interrupting,’ she announces, pinning the man with a firm stare. If he’s bothered by her sudden appearance, he makes no show of it.

‘Of course not, my dear Inquisitor,’ Leliana greets her with a smile. ‘But allow me to introduce the two of you properly. This is Arl Teagan Guerrin of Redcliffe, who is representing Ferelden here at the summit.’

A sharp bolt of irritation cuts through Artemis at the introduction, surprised that neither Alistair nor Elizabeth had bothered to be present. Perhaps they simply couldn’t look her in the eye after putting her in this situation, but it would have been polite at the very least. She barely notices the greeting Arl Teagan gives in response, a bow in the Fereldan style, and she forces herself to wear a neutral expression.

‘And I’m sure I need not introduce the Inquisitor, my lord,’ Leliana continues.

‘Of course not. An honour, Lady Inquisitor.’

‘The Arl was telling me of events in Denerim.’

‘I see. Is all well, my lord?’ Artemis asks, wondering if she can glean something of his monarchs absence from him.

‘As well as can be, in these times.’

He doesn’t bite, and so she shifts her weight, wondering if she could try a different angle. Or at least find out more about the man.

‘And how are things in Redcliffe?’

He seems happier with that line of questioning, the deep set wrinkles around his mouth lessening a little.

‘Blessedly quiet. The mayor conveys his greetings. Redcliffe always remembers its saviours.’

A pity about the rest of it, then, she thinks, biting back her comments. The hurt from Alistair and Elizabeth’s action still too strong, she changes tact, hoping to speak with Leliana more freely.

‘I had hoped to steal a moment of the Divine’s time…’

‘Very well,’ The Arl aquieces. ‘We will continue this later, your…’ he pauses, looking at Leliana for a moment with something not entirely reverential, ‘...perfection.’

There’s a faint hint of red on the man’s cheeks as he utters the last word and then bows awkwardly, wandering away to speak with someone else. 

Artemis lifts a curious brow, meeting Leliana’s amused gaze.

‘Your “perfection” now, is it?’

‘Only to him, I expect,’ the redhead replies, ushering them to a secluded glade that offers a modicum more privacy. 

‘Would it be scandalous to suggest that his lordship might have his eye on you?’

‘It would.’ Leliana smooths her skirts as she sits. ‘And...all things aside, that ship sailed some time ago. I do not intend to make port in Redcliffe again, lovely though it once was.’

It takes Artemis a moment to catch Leliana’s meaning in her metaphor and when she does, she feels her eyes widen. She peers from between foliage at the man, his sallow complexion and pot belly, the unpleasant sharpness of his face and sparse beard. The hat doesn’t help matters either, and she wonders if it is concealing something worse.

‘Him? Really?’ she asks, turning back to look at Leliana. 

The woman smiles somewhat wistfully.

‘He was a younger man, and the years have been long. Politics has not been kind to him.’

‘So it seems.’

‘I do hope his nephew has fared better,’ the Divine comments offhandedly.

‘The mage? Connor? He was fine when we saw him a few years ago and surely he can’t truly get involved in Arl Teagan’s matters?’

Leliana grins as if knowing some great secret.

‘I meant his other nephew. But it is no matter, we have more important issues to discuss. There are many who fear the Inquisition’s power, though I will do all I can to allay those fears.’

The change in topic snaps Artemis’s attention back to why she came to see the woman.

‘So am I right to be worried?’

‘The Inquisition stands on a knife edge. I have done as much as I can to prevent this happening, but it seems it was inevitable. If you wish to stop this, you must win back the hearts and minds of the delegates. Explore the grounds, let yourself be seen. Allow them to put a name to the legend.’

‘That’s it? Chat them up?’

Leliana smiles faintly.

‘Essentially. It is all we can do. Hope to change the minds of those here, and let that message return to the homelands.’ She sighs as she spies someone approaching. ‘I have much to do, but let me say this; I may no longer be your spymaster, but I will always be here if you require.’

‘Thank you, Leliana. I’ll speak with you again, later.’

She stands and bows, making her way back towards the gardens with a head full of new worries and ideas.

With Leliana no longer free, she turns her attention to seeking out her other friends who have decided to attend. She finds Dorian speaking with the Orlesian ambassador, though her friend manages to dismiss him quickly. Glad to see him again, she rushes in for a hug, receiving an awkward pat on the back in response. 

‘Ah, yes, well. I suppose unfettered displays of delight at seeing me are only natural.’

‘It’s just...so good to see you again. With everything that’s happened…’ She gestures to the gardens, the people around them.

‘Quite understandable. Orlesian faces never do seem to quite get rid of their hostility do they? But the Fereldans...that was a surprise. For people who claim such loyalty…’

Her lips purse at that, and Dorian lifts a curious eyebrow.

‘But...let’s leave that for later, shall we? 

She nods in agreement, and Dorian offers his arm to her.

‘Shall we?’

Slipping her arm through his, Artemis smiles and allows him to lead her back through the gardens, gossiping as they walk. It doesn't take long for the topic to turn more serious, news of his father’s death weighing on him, and she nods sympathetically, offering condolences and aid. He waves them both away with a laugh, before they bump, almost literally, into Varric.

It spirals from there, of course, the newly appointed Viscount of Kirkwall dragging them to the tavern where they find the rest of their broken circle. Save Cullen, she notes, wondering idly where the man’s got to. She sits with them, drinks, laughs, eats; forgets the situation for a few hours until she’s summoned and reality comes crashing back. 

The first round of the council is...brutal. Arl Teagan, who’d been courteous, if distant, in the terraces suddenly turns venomous and when they take a short break, it’s him she makes a beeline for. She finds him on the terrace again, not far from where she had sat with Leliana.

‘It is good that the council is underway, Inquisitor,’ the lord greets before she’s even finished walking, as if trying to fend off her wrath. ‘The crown is… anxious for news.’

Her thoughts on that are not what she would call savoury, but she holds her tongue, for the most part;

‘Yes, Ferelden has made its position quite clear.’

‘The Breach is long gone, yet Skyhold’s army remains. Ferelden can’t continue to ignore soldiers on its borders.’

‘And is that it? Because the Crown didn’t seem in the least bit concerned about it...say, two months ago when they left Skyhold with a belly full of our hospitality.’

‘Two months is a long time in politics, Inquisitor. I believe the king and queen bear you no ill will. It is simply a matter of security.’

‘And yet they sent you to argue their case, rather than attending themselves.’

The arl cocks his head slightly, a mannerism so like Alistair it throws her for a moment.

‘With all respect, Inquisitor, do you see Empress Celene attending? King Alistair appreciates everything the Inquisition has done, that you have done, but he has other matters to attend to.’

‘And the queen?’

‘The queen has been feeling a little under the weather lately, if truth be told. She was not well enough to make the journey.’

‘Right.’

The Fereldan eyes her coolly at that.

‘At any rate, I shan’t keep you, Inquisitor. There will be time enough for words yet. But both the king and queen wished that I convey to you that this was not a personal matter on their part.’

He strides off before she can answer him, and after a moment of indecision, she lets him go. It wasn’t a good idea, irritated as she is, to chase after him, and she sighs, rubbing her temples as she looks around wearily.

Against rich velvet cushions of the chaise longue, parchment lies, embossed with Ferelden’s rampant dogs. She tuts, lifting it, thinking that the arl should be more carefully as she scans the contents. It’s in Alistair’s bold writing;

‘Uncle Teagan,’

She starts, stops, reads the opening line again. ‘Uncle Teagan’. Well that explains Leliana’s comment and the man’s presence takes on a new meaning. They hadn’t sent some lackey. They’d sent their most trusted advisor to carry their words.

Scanning the letter, she finds nothing of note, no great detail or secret, save for the doodle at the bottom that’s so charmingly Alistair that she feels her anger ebb, just a fraction.

His Majesty has drawn a stick figure, weighed down by an oversized crown.

Folding the letter, she tucks it into the pocket of her dress jacket, and makes her way back towards the main garden. It’s likely time that she should return to the council, and yet she turns away from the path back to the audience chamber. Following a path she hasn’t taken before, a winding trail of mosaic tiles, Artemis finds herself in an area of the garden that’s overwhelming white and blue, the ground beneath her feet a series of white tiles, broken by slivers of grass that grow through the earth beneath. There’s a small building in one corner, a pretty white and gold structure surrounded by colourful plants, and in front of it, a single figure dressed in red, playing with a large dog.

‘You there!’ he scolds the dog. ‘You’re supposed to dodge, not catch. If that ball were a fireball, you’d be dead.’

There’s no real reproach to his tone and the dog cocks its head questioningly before barking playfully.

‘You…found a dog?’ she asks, apprehension rising in her chest. Whilst it was true that she had overcome a lot of her anxiety since dealing with Barkspawn, this was a different dog. It could have an entirely different nature, though it only whines softly at her approach.

‘They don’t breed Mabari in Orlais,’ Cullen explains carefully, scratching behind the dogs ears. ‘The merchant said he was abandoned. Perhaps the owners tired of the novelty.’

She’s not without sympathy for the animal of course, and she reaches out slowly, the way that Cullen had shown her before, a clenched fist for the dog to sniff. He does so readily and after a moment of investigation, seems satisfied, sitting down and looking up at her expectantly.

‘Poor boy,’ she coos, slowly reaching to pat the hound’s head. ‘Well, he...I assume he, seems happy now.’ 

The dog barks again, tongue lolling playfully.

‘Another Ferelden trapped at the Winter Palace, I couldn’t leave him to that fate.’ Cullen smiles, faintly embarrassed at what she realises now is an entirely spontaneous purchase. ‘Besides...I think he likes me.’

After a moment his smile fades, and he looks down at the dog.

‘The Inquisition will change after this, the council will be sure of that. But I’m glad I’ve found certainty in my life now. They can’t change that.’

She nods in agreement, no words ready to offer rebuttal against an obvious truth, and she kneels with him as the Mabari rolls onto his back, offering his belly. Cullen is already ruffling the soft fur of the dog’s chest and she reaches to do the same, offering heavy strokes that the animal seems to enjoy, a hind leg kicking of its own accord as she scratches at a hollow behind his ribs.

Cullen laughs warmly at the sight, turning his gaze to her, and she can’t recall a time when he’s seemed so at peace. Despite the chaos around them, their stolen moment of calm offer him peace and his expression changes into something wistful, thoughtful;

‘Marry me.’ 

The words are barely above a whisper, but she hears them all the same, blinking in surprise, her mind empty for a moment before her thoughts manage to catch up.

‘What?’

It’s not quite the response she thought she’d manage to give if this situation ever occurred, but she’d had no idea it was coming and...from the expression on his face, neither did Cullen. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks as he reaches to rub his nape.

’I mean, will you…’ He sighs heavily, mouth curved with wry amusement as he looks at her. ‘I had a plan and there...wasn’t a dog. But you were…’ He looks to her again, expression and eyes soft as he drops his hand, reaching for her instead.

She rises to meet him gladly, his hands gripping hers, fingers intertwining.

‘I’ve thought of little else, and I don’t need a plan - only to know if you would…’

‘I would!’ she interrupts before he can finish, her heart beating furiously as she looks up at him. ‘Cullen, I will.’

‘You will,’ he repeats softly, as though he’s not quite able to believe that she’s agreed. 

For a moment, she can’t believe it’s happening either and she breathes sharply, suddenly overwhelmed. He grips her neck gently, pulling her to him, pressing soft lips to hers, the hard line of his scar and the scratch of his stubble so reassuringly familiar now, and she clings to him, her fiance.

It’s just the two of them. For a moment, they’re the only people in the world who exist, who matter. She loses herself in him, committing the moment to memory, silencing thoughts with sensation.

Reality creeps back in a steady flow, and she breathes as she pulls back for air, blinking away the wetness that has gathered at the corner of her eyes. Artemis grins up at him, so proud of him, how far he’s come, and she can’t wait to share the news with her family, her friends, with Alistair and Elizabeth.

She feels her smile falter and Cullen presses his lips to her forehead, soothing her and she sniffs, trying to put the thought out of her mind. There was nothing she could do about the situation now, and there was no sense in ruining one of the most important moments of her life with such things.

Taking Cullen’s hand and squeezing she looks up to her new fiancee.

‘Let’s get married.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter. As always, kudos, comments etc. are always greatly appreciated.


	6. A clean break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joy and tragedy in a matter of a few days. Who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and sorry for the delay with this chapter. Life-y things have been getting in the way.
> 
> Chapter is a bit long, but bear with, please, because there's (hopefully) good stuff coming.
> 
> Also, chapter content warning for Trespasser spoilers, trauma and limb loss.
> 
> ....happy reading :S

‘You know,’ Artemis glances around, ‘people will notice the Inquisitor marrying her commander in the middle of the exalted council.’

The small yard they’re currently stood in is quiet, no one else in sight, but she knows that somewhere like the Winter Palace has eyes and ears everywhere.

‘It won’t go over well,’ Cullen agrees, his thumb stroking over her knuckles, ‘but we know a few people who can keep things…secret.’

It’s as if those words somehow invoke some sort of spell, because suddenly they’re moving, a flurry of motion and a heartbeat later she’s wearing a white dress, standing with mother Giselle at the gazebo. Cullen stands opposite, his familiar quiet smile curving his lips, gazing down at her with such affection that she doesn’t hesitate for a moment as their ceremony begins.

‘This is the part where you make a promise,’ Mother Giselle prompts.

‘Ah yes,’ Cullen clears his throat, ‘I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman for the rest of my days.’

She doesn’t remember echoing his words, exactly, though she know she repeats them, vow after vow, and she holds his hand as he slips a ring onto her finger, and she onto his. She does, however, remember the exact moment that Mother Giselle announces them as husband and wife, and Artemis beams, heart full in her chest as Cullen pulls her against him, pressing their lips together for their first kiss as a married couple.

Beside them, the dog barks, excited, and she giggles as she breaks the kiss, Cullen’s forehead resting against hers.

‘My wife,’ he murmurs, pulling back to look at her, ‘my wonderful wife.’

She presses her hands to his chest, smoothing out the fabric of his tunic.

‘Should we find a way to celebrate?’

‘I think so.’

He takes her hand in his, using his free hand to scratch their Mabari behind his ear before her new husband leads them away from the gazebo…

And into a wall of their friends, all beaming at the two of them. 

‘You didn’t honestly think you could keep this a secret from our rabble, did you?’ Dorian smirks as Josephine bustles around them, ensuring everyone has a glass of champagne in their hand.

‘I…’ Artemis finds herself at a loss for words, suddenly conscious of her gown.

‘Not to worry, Inquisitor, we’ve...made arrangements,’ Josephine informs her and the group is quickly lead to a small, secluded building, just large enough for them all to mingle in comfortably.

As the door closes behind them, shutting away the world and its council, Cullen slips his arm around her waist, holding his glass high, along with the attention of their friends;

‘My friends, I hope you will all join me in raising a glass, a toast, to my beautiful new wife; Lady Artemis Rutherford.’

\--

The party drink late into the night, somehow uninterrupted, and Artemis and Cullen eventually manage to retire for a few hours of privacy. They make the most of it, losing themselves in each other’s warmth, the touch of skin and the soft rise and fall of their voices. So long do their exertions run, that dawn is nearly upon them before they eventually find rest in each others arms. 

The knock at their chamber door comes all too soon, and then their day begins again.

Artemis finds herself sat before the council once more, and it doesn’t take long for tempers to begin to fray. Arl Teagan is outright aggressive, but at least he’s direct and honest in his accusations, compared to the simpering of the Orlesian lord. Right now, however, she can’t really stand either, anger and indignation roiling in her stomach, sitting over a pit of fear. It’s almost a relief when a messenger comes to her, telling her she’s needed by Cassandra, and she excuses herself, leaving Josephine to do what she can as Teagan calls out angrily after her.

She wonders if things would be different if it were Alistair sat on the council, but it hardly matters. Especially when she finds Cassandra, standing next to the corpse of a recently deceased Qunari. In full armour, no less.

There’s no sign as to how the warrior got there, injured badly enough for it to end his life, and Cassandra excuses herself to request a halt in the proceedings of the council while Artemis investigates. There’s a trail of blood, somehow unnoticed by staff and she follows it to a small side room, where a fully functioning eluvian stands undisturbed. There’s no way in the name of the Maker that she’s going through it alone, and she runs, finding the old team, and in short order she’s dressing in her armour, Varric, Cassandra and Bull by her side. Just like old times.

They plunge in, following a trail of corpses through mirror after mirror, her fears over the council forgotten in place of her new quest. With her friends by her side once more, she feels lighter, freer, than she has done in some time and it’s only the maze of the ancient elven buildings that she finds herself in that gives her pause.

She slows their pace as they find more corpses, hostile spirits lingering around them. It instills an unpleasant wariness in her, and when the spirits are dealt with, she takes a moment to collect her senses. There’s something about the elven ruins that’s uncomfortable in a way that she’s never noticed before, and each scripture about Fen’Harel does nothing to ease her discomfort. In all honesty, she’d never given the elven gods much thought, beyond what was needed to complete her goals.

That, and there’s an insistent itch in her left hand, sitting just below the skin, as if the anchor was about to fire again. The further they walk, the more intense it gets until they finally encounter a group of the Qunari they’ve been chasing. It ends messily, not that that was ever not going to happen, and she finds a copy of the soldiers’ orders.

‘Two parties: the Qunari and the mystery agent trying to stop them. Either way they’re coming to the Winter Palace,’ she states. ‘We need to get back and warn them.’

They move again, back through eluvians until they’re in the Winter Palace and she’s more relieved than she should be to see her advisors. Cullen stands among them, his expression questioning her well being, though he never says the words aloud.

Their meeting only takes a few minutes; Josie agrees, somewhat reluctantly, to try and placate an irate council, whilst Cullen and Cassandra make plans for increasing the security around the palace.

Artemis finds herself heading back to the eluvian, desperate to find out more. She feels for Josie, stuck with the unenviable task of trying to calm the politicians. But if anyone can do it, she can.

With the path they took previously already explored, she turns her attention to another eluvian, this time leading to the deep roads. A place she has absolutely no desire to return to, but something about the place tugs at her, and sure enough, after only a few minutes they stumble upon a group of Qunari. They fight, of course, their foes falling before them, and it’s enough to tell her she’s on the right path. It irks her though, this mention of Fen’Harel that seems to be following her now. Or, perhaps, it’s leading her, the Qunari crying of her treachery, of her servitude to the elven god every time she and her group encounter them. 

Whichever it is, the way her hand is tingling, stronger now, the way the light from it flickers constantly, is an unwelcome distraction. 

They head on deeper, catching glimpses of groups of Qunari further in the mines, and Artemis feels her confusion and unease grow each time they see them. It’s sheer luck that they stumble upon a former templar who’d decided to work for the Qun, and he’s all too eager to tell them everything he knows. It’s not much, but it’s something, and by the end of their conversation they know of the Viddasala and her ‘Dragon’s Breath’ plan, its need for lyrium, and that they Qunari definitely believe that the Inquisition is serving Fen’Harel. Artemis she knows she needs to stop them.

Convenient then, that the Qunari have left detonation charges and black power in abundance and she takes an unduly large amount of pleasure in utterly destroying the mine before they flee. It’s as they slow, the last tremors of explosions and collapsing mine shafts die away, that Bull smirks at her.

‘So, how you going to break it to your husband that the Inquisition is at war with the Qun?’

She swallows thickly.

‘Good question.’

\--

When Artemis reappears from...wherever it is she’s been, it’s late evening and Cullen is on his feet in an instant as she enters their meeting room.

She looks exhausted, her face smeared with dust and dirt, her shoulders heavy. She recounts the tale of her most recent adventures in a near monotone and he doesn’t know whether to rush to her aid or scream in frustration at the details of her story. He does neither, opting instead to focus on the issues she’s presented them with.

‘Let’s see the Exalted Council try to disband the Inquisition after we’ve saved them from this ‘Dragon’s Breath’.’ He means to say it mostly to himself, but his colleagues hear it anyway.

‘We must find out what Dragon’s Breath is first,’ Cassandra reminds him sharply. ‘For now, our only lead is the Viddasala.’

Artemis looks to them to comment, no doubt to offer to go back and find out what she can, when she’s interrupted by the sounds of heavy footsteps on the stairs outside. A moment later, two angry delegates stand in their meeting room, Arl Teagan glowering at each of them in turn. 

‘Gentlemen?’ Josephine questions.

‘My apologies, Lady Josephine,’ The Orlesian ambassadors, whose name Cullen doesn’t care to recall, address the room as he speaks despite looking at Josie. ‘There has been an incident with one of your soldiers.’

‘Incident?’ Cullen questions, already alarmed. His hand falls to his sword, and it’s only a curt glance from Artemis that makes him release the grip as Arl Teagan rounds on her.

‘How dare you?’ he accuses, face mottled red in rage. ‘It was bad enough that the Inquisition chose not to inform the Exalted Council of the Qunari corpse…’

‘Orlais would have been happy to help with the matter…’ Lord-what’s-his-face-of-Orlais offers.

‘But now your own guards are attacking servants! You have overstepped your bounds.’ His gaze falls on Cullen at that, as if he had somehow ordered this, and he meets the man’s gaze calmly, unwilling to let his own anger at the accusation show.

‘My plan to seize power in Ferelden would hardly start with soldiers scuffling in Orlais, Arl Teagan,’ Artemis retorts, her tone biting, sarcasm flaring with her temper and Cullen can’t help but feel pride stir in his chest at his wife’s comeback.

‘While the Exalted Council is our foremost priority, the Inquisitor will of course address this matter personally,’ Josephine interjects before any of them can get a word in. The ambassador’s gaze lands on Artemis, daring her to object in a stance of defiance that Cullen has never seen before, and he in turn glares at the Antivan for daring to speak to their leader in such a tone.

The Orlesian says something that Cullen doesn’t hear over his own anger, and he only just manages to catch Arl Teagan’s own retort.

‘Secrets and lies. Do you understand why we fear your Inquisition? You act as if you’re the solution to every problem. How long before you drag us into another war?’

Cullen’s instinct is to defend the Inquisition, his lady’s honour, but even as Arl Teagan speaks, there’s a truth to his words that Cullen finds unsettling. The Inquisition may not have any intention to cause any harm. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t. Still, he’s loyal, to Artemis, to the Inquisition and he makes to rebuke Arl Teagan when Artemis announces her intention to go and investigate. Right. Now.

He aches to go with her, to help her, then make her take care of herself as she needs to. But there’s no time, not when there’s so much at stake. All he can do is muster the guards, to warn them to be vigilant.

Leliana disappears after her, then returns some time later, informing them that the issue has been dealt with, for now, and Artemis intends to retire for the night. He rushes to meet her, finding her in their shared chambers.

She looks exhausted, and Cullen pulls her into his arms, holding her close for a moment, before he guides her towards the bed. Artemis all but collapses onto it, just managing to tug her clothes off, and before he can say anything, his wife is asleep. Frowning, he turns back to the door, calling for a servant who appears promptly. He asks for bread, and water, and apples, something that will keep overnight, for he knows that come morning, she won’t seek out breakfast. If he wants to make sure she eats, then he has to make sure the food is right in front of her.

Once the food has arrived, he instructs the servant to leave it on the small table in the corner of the room, before ushering the girl out, blowing out the candles and climbing into bed himself.

He doesn’t sleep well, and nor does Artemis. They both wake just before dawn, tired and worried, nightmares lingering, and Cullen doesn’t like the way the anchor on his wife’s hand flickers continuously. 

Sitting at the small table, he manages to make her eat, though its apparent that she’s distracted. He reaches for her right hand, fingers entwining, his thumb stroking over the back of her knuckles.

‘It will be alright, my love.’

Artemis huffs.

‘Will it? We saved Orlais, and they’re angry. We saved Ferelden, and they’re angry. Isn’t there anything in this bloody land that can just stay fixed?’

‘I understand your frustration, Artemis. But we will find a way to save the Inquisition. Even if we have to save these fools, again, to do it.’

She looks at him doubtfully.

‘I do hope you’re right.’

Artemis stands, sets to dressing herself, when a knock sounds at the door; a servant with a note to say they’ve been summoned by most holy.

They rush to meet her, finding her in the room they’ve been occupying during the council. Josie too, is already there, looking a little less put together than usual.

She reports quickly; news that the Gaatlok barrels that had been brought in had been done so under the Inquisition’s own manifest. He doesn’t have to look at Artemis to know how she feels about that, and she announces that she’s returning to the eluvian to see if she can hunt down the Qunari any faster. Leliana agrees quietly, whilst informing them that she would set her people to discovering just how far across Thedas the barrels had been taken. If they were here, she reasoned, they could be in plenty of other places of note.

Artemis leaves with barely a word, and Cullen finds himself with little to do again as he waits for her return. He decides to inspect the troops he’s brought with them. And then to spend some time with their dog, whose name still eludes him.

When eventually he’s summoned again, upon her return, they meet in the now familiar office area. Leliana and Josephine already present, concern etched into their faces, and it does nothing to lighten Artemis’s mood.

There are barrels, it seems, being moved all over southern Thedas. In Kirkwall, Orlais, Antiva and Ferelden’s highest powers. He knows what that means before the words ‘Denerim Palace’ even leave her lips. His heart seizes in his chest, fear for Alistair and Elizabeth’s safety. Their potential peril, it seemed, was enough to make some of the anger and hurt he’d felt earlier ease. He already knows that Artemis feels the same too, from the way she tries to ask about them without raising suspicions. Leliana assures them that the situation will be handled.

It does little to ease his concern, despite knowing how capable Leliana and her people are. He needs to be involved, to take control of the situation until he’s satisfied that they’re safe. 

‘The Qunari are one order from destroying every noble house in Thedas,’ he murmurs, catching Artemis’s eyes.

‘There is a bright side to all this, however,’ Josephine comments, and Cullen feels his ire rounding on her. ‘Warning the ambassadors will remind them of the Inquisition’s value.’

Lives at stake, reduced to politics again.

‘Not when the Inquisition is responsible for that threat,’ Leliana reminds her.

‘And these spies in our midst happened...how?’ Artemis asks.

‘Elves. They joined us after fleeing Kirkwall. But not before they had converted to the Qun.’

‘Trying to find better lives among the chaos…’ Cullen muses.

‘Aren’t we all though?’ Artemis mutters, and her tone, dark, resentful, catches his attention. He finds her gaze again, questioning.

‘We railed against the mages at Redcliffe for allowing themselves to be corrupted. We did the same to the Grey Wardens,’ she rubs her eyes, tired, angry, ‘now look at us.’

There’s a pause, heavy, weighing down on them, guilt and disappointment.

‘I fought to protect the Inquisition in this Exalted Council. And for what?’ Josephine murmurs, her voice wavering. ’So we could deceive and threaten those we claimed to protect?’ 

‘Once we locate the spies…’ Cullen begins, trying to ease the ambassador’s upset, and he’s taken aback when her anger seems to double, now directed at him.

‘This isn’t about the spies! You hid the Qunari body! You’ve all but seized control of the Winter Palace.’

His pity for the woman withers instantly. Could she not understand that not everything was about the nobility? That there were perhaps more important things than not upsetting the rich.

‘We did what was right, not what was politically convenient!’ 

‘Do you know what this has cost us with Orlais and Ferelden? They are planning to dismantle us as we speak!’ the Antivan fires back before she seems to realise how raised her tone has become. She takes a breath, steps back, anger flagging as she shakes her head, dismayed. ‘And perhaps they are right.’

He opens his mouth to protest, to argue that they’re still worth fighting for, when Artemis’s cry interrupts all thought of it. 

It’s not a noise that he’s ever heard her make before, a high desperate wail that makes his stomach churn and he knows before he looks to her that he’ll find her on her knees. 

He’s at her side in a heartbeat, afraid to touch her as she grips her left arm, green light flashing sporadically. There’s no way to stop it, and he sits next to her, helpless, tentatively reaching out to press his hand to her back. It does nothing, of course, and he can only rub gently, hoping she’s aware of him, until the light from the anchor sputters out, plunging the room into dim candlelight.

The silence that falls, interrupted only by Artemis’s panting, speaks volumes of the tension in the room, anger that’s turned to concern. Josephine steps forwards, her movements cautious.

‘Inquisitor, I…’

‘I’m fine,’ Artemis interrupts, climbing to her feet. She’s shaky and Cullen presses his hand to the small of her back, steadying her. At the concerned looks on her advisor’s faces, her stance softens.

‘It’s been getting worse, I don’t know how to stop it,’ she confesses, her voice dropping lower, ‘I don’t...know how much time I have left.’ 

He knows the fear that causes her voice to fall quieter, feels it running through his own chest, and he tries not to let it show. There would be a way to save her. There had to be.

‘What I do know…’ Artemis continues, and he marvels at his wife’s strength, ‘is that the Qunari need to be stopped. So I need to get to their leader while I can still fight.’

Against her back, Cullen’s hand twitches, his composure loosening, and she turns to embrace him, her head resting against his chest.

‘W...would you like me to inform the council of the danger?’ Josephine asks, her voice trembling.

‘Yes, we must,’ Artemis answers, pulling away.

Leliana agrees to see it through and Cullen casts an eye over the women as they return to work. 

‘I can have guards accompany you.’

‘No. I need to be quick, not noticed. I’ll take Dorian, and Varric and Bull.’

‘But….’ 

‘No arguments, Cullen, please. Not now.’

He concedes. Despite his better judgement.

‘Then I will have guards positioned next to the eluvian, should the Qunari try to enter the palace’

Still, he can’t help pulling her into him again, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

‘Say you’ll return to me again. This last time.’

She smiles up at him. 

‘I’ll do my best.’ 

On her tiptoes, Artemis stretches up, planting a firm kiss to his lips before she pulls away, out of his grip.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

He let’s her go, though his heart aches as he does, watching her leave with everything in him begging her not to go.

When she’s out of sight, Cullen finds himself looking at the map again, wondering what to do with himself. He adjusts the guard roster, pulling men from quieter areas of the palace to those nearer the eluvian without trying to cause alarm. He’s aware of Leliana’s spies coming and going, servants checking on him, and he ignores all of it, unable to overlook the pit of concern in his stomach. He’s almost lost her before, he’d hoped it would never come to it again and yet here they are. He can’t stand it and he wanders into the gardens, watching idly as the moon climbs into the sky.

He only becomes aware of anything around him, when he’s alerted by someone shouting his name.

‘Commander! Commander Cullen!’ 

He spins at the note of desperation in the voice, finding a scout barreling towards him as fast as the woman’s legs can carry her. 

The sight doesn’t inspire any calm in him.

‘Scout Renhart! Report!’

‘Ser, the Inquisitor…’

‘She’s returned?!’

‘Yes, ser. But...you...you need to go to her, ser. Something’s wrong. They didn’t tell me everything but…’

‘Where?! Where is she?’

‘Your quarters, Commander.’

He bolts before the scout has fully finished speaking, tearing through the gardens and lavish halls of the palace until he reaches the gilded door to their chambers, his breath ragged in his chest. The small group of servants and curious minor nobles, does nothing to help his mood and he barks at them to move, his command accompanied by a furious bark from his hound.

It seems that the doors move of their own accord, as if bending to his will as they slide open just enough to admit him. 

He’s met instantly by a tone of voice that he’s learned to fear, hushed voices of healers and surgeons that know there’s nothing to be done, and he pushes through them to find Artemis.

She is not, as he expected, prone on the bed, wrapped in linens, but sat up, stripped to her waist of all but a camisole. His relief is only short lived however, upon taking in the rest of her appearance, her skin pale and waxy, her expression drawn with worry and pain. 

Striding forward, he moves to take her in his arms, taken aback when she shrugs away from his touch. Blue eyes meet his briefly, bloodshot, tired, before she pulls her gaze away, turning to look down at her left arm. He follows her gaze. His breath leaves his lungs.

Her forearm is...grey. It rests limp and heavy against the bed, crippled, Artemis’s shoulder tilted in a way that suggests its weight is too great for her to lift. Curiosity mingles with concern, as he’s unable to quite comprehend what he’s seeing, reasoning that it must be his eyes growing weary, or a trick of the light that makes her arm seem so leaden.

‘I can’t…’ Artemis chokes, and he snaps his gaze back to hers, watching the tension that tugs at the corners of her mouth as she speaks, ‘...it won’t move.’

He has no words to soothe her, no reassurance he can give, and he fears for her. Instead, he sinks next to her on the bed, tentatively easing his arm around her waist. She freezes for a moment, stiffens, before relinquishing, pressing her face to the dip of his shoulder. He can’t look away from her arm, confused by its smooth appearance, how the gold band she wore on her ring finger seemed as much a part of the limb as any other feature.

‘Artemis...may I…?’

Artemis looks up at him, wariness in her gaze, before she nods, hesitant, and he’s careful to take his time as he reaches for her arm, ensuring she can watch him do so. She flinches as his fingertips make contact, and he pulls away, frightened that he’s causing her pain. His wife bites her lip, but he knows the expression - fear, distress, but not pain. She takes a breath, nods for him to continue, and he returns with his same measured touch, fingertips brushing.

Her skin is cold. Hard. Not like skin at all; inflexible, its surface coarse, almost grainy and as he applies gentle pressure, he realises that it’s not only her skin that has changed, but he entire flesh and bone of her forearm. His fingers trace down, over slim wrists to delicate fingers that seem so fragile now, to the plain band that is now the same texture as the rest of her arm. It’s as though the finest sculptor in Thedas has set to immortalise her, every bump and feature of her skin recreated in perfect, immovable stone. He swallows thickly.

‘He did it to them all, the Qunari but...their whole bodies just...turned to stone in a heartbeat.’

Cullen swallows, struggles to find his voice.

‘He?’

‘Solas.’

The name jolts him for a moment, confusion over the mention of the elf who disappeared two years ago. He’s torn between asking about their former ally and focusing his concern on her, knowing she’d rather him question about the former.

‘How...did he do this?’

‘I don’t know but...he’s powerful, Cullen. More powerful than we ever imagined.’

‘And...why?’

‘He said...it would buy us time. To talk. But I don’t think he expected...this.’ She glances down to her arm, shrugging her shoulder. ‘He left before it turned to stone. I don’t think he believed I’d survive. But we have to...we have to find a way to stop Solas, Cullen, he’s…’

‘Artemis, I understand but, you are more important at this moment. Your arm…’

‘Is dead, Cullen. There’s nothing that can be done for it,’ she turns her gaze on the healers, pinning them with a glare, ‘so I don’t know why you’re all still here. I’m fine. You can leave.’

‘With respect, Inquisitor,’ one of them replies, ‘your arm may not be salvageable, but even if that is the case...we cannot leave you. We don’t know what effects this may have on your physiology.’

‘If I feel unwell, I’ll summon you. Now leave, all of you. I need to discuss...matters, with my husband.’

They’re clearly not happy about it, but it’s likely true that there’s little the healers can do, and they grumble to themselves, slowly leaving the room.

‘Artemis…’

‘Solas,’ she cuts him off, ‘we need to go after Solas, somehow. Cullen...he’s going to destroy the veil. He’ll kill us all.’

‘...What do you mean?’

‘He’s a god, Cullen. Or...something like that. The last few years, everything that happened with Corypheus. It was all him, trying to regain his power. That’s what the orb was, what the anchor was, and now...now he’s going to try and use it to tear down the veil, to try and restore the world to what it was before.’

‘Before...what?’

‘Before the veil. He made it, to save the elves or something...maybe I misunderstood but...we can’t let him Cullen.’

He pauses, letting that information wash over him, considering it carefully. The words are alarming, if he understands rightly, but...he doesn’t know where to begin. Except with her. If all else failed, looking after Artemis was always a good way to start.

‘And we will not. But you’re injured and we have no idea where to begin. We’ve not even finished dealing with the council yet, Artemis.’

‘But we’ve worked so hard to save this world and...can’t it just stay fixed.’

He pulls her into him at the despair in her voice.

‘I’m so tired, Cullen. I just want to stop.’

He knows, he’s known it longer than perhaps even she has.

‘Then stop. Just for now. Until your head is clearer and your arm is…’

Until her arm is what, he wonders. There’s nothing they can do, and he glances to the lifeless limb.

She says nothing to his silence, opting to lean in closer to him and he does the best he can to comfort her.

‘Let’s just rest, for tonight. We’ll face everything else tomorrow.’

Artemis nods, and he guides her down onto the bed next to him, feeling her press against him as her breathing becomes deeper. He wonders if the healers have given her something to allow her to rest more easily.

For all his wife slumbers beside him, exhausted, however, he can’t sleep himself. He listens closely to her breathing, her movements, though she barely stirs, worried that she’ll slip away in the night. 

She doesn’t, of course, always stronger than everything life throws at her and he’s relieved when she rolls in his arms as she awakes. Blue eyes meet his own, still dull with worry, and he presses a kiss to her forehead.

‘Did you rest well?’ he asks, and Artemis nods, giving him a thin smile.

‘Did you?’

It’s probably evident that he didn’t, but he nods nonetheless.

‘As well as I could.’

‘Which means ‘not at all’, doesn’t it?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Cullen, I…’ She sits up suddenly, gasping at the motion and freezing and he bolts upright to hold her.

‘Artemis? Are you well? What…’

She grimaces, eyes closing as he brow furrows.

‘My arm…’

Alarm shoots through him, fear that the pain and danger of the anchor have returned.

‘It doesn’t hurt,’ she clarifies after a moment, ‘it just feels...odd. Not the stone bit but…’

He straightens, stretching slowly to peer at her dead arm. It seems at an odd angle, even for something that isn’t alive anymore, and he gently grips the cold, hard wrist, lifting the limb. Artemis moves her shoulder with it, her upper arm following, though it seems more through conscious effort than the fact the two are attached. 

Along the bend of her elbow, where skin meets stone, there’s a thin line of raw pink flesh. Frowning, he leans in closer, examining the join. His stomach turns a little, the border between the two clearly beginning to seperate.

‘It’s...falling off,’ Artemis murmurs and he can only grunt quietly, pulling back.

‘It...I mean not to be callous but...perhaps it is for the best. If we cannot reverse the damage, it would only be an encumbrance.’

‘And so I only have to learn to live with one arm, rather than having one useful and one useless. That is a comfort.’

He can’t blame her for being angry at him, but it still stings.

She sighs.

‘What do I do? Sit here and wait for it to fall? Pull it off?’

‘I…’

‘Don’t know. I know. It’s not even….’ she sighs again. ‘Can you get Josephine and Leliana here? We need to make a decision about what we’re going to do with Inquisition.’

‘You have something in mind?’

‘I do.’

He does as she bids, finding a messenger to summon the other advisors. And a tray of food.

All three appear at the same time, and Artemis doesn’t allow either advisor to make any comment on her condition before she announces her plans. 

The Inquisition still had a place in the world, still had work to do. But not as it currently existed, and he feels a swell of pride as his wife announces her plans to the other two. They would become a new type of organisation, peacekeepers under the Divine’s command, a smaller order. One that could be trusted.

It would mean the disbanding of most of the army he had created, of course, and whilst it would be difficult to watch it happen, he trusted Artemis’s decision. And perhaps it would be best for both of them to take a step back, to regain some of their own lives. Maker knows they both need it.

The news seems to be met well by Leliana and Josephine, and he’s pleased that they agree easily enough. Josephine in particular, he senses, is eager to find some new purpose. Or perhaps a reason to have a reprieve from the intensity of the past few years.

Of course, their agreement means that the matter is dealt with swiftly, and their attention returns to that which Artemis had sought to distract them from. Her forearm is concealed beneath a blanket, and she’s careful to only use her right hand to reach for a slice of apple on the breakfast platter.

It doesn’t escape Leliana’s attention, her eyes tracking the movement, flicking to Artemis’s awkwardly held left arm.

‘You decided to send the healers away, I hear,’ she comments. 

Artemis’s eyes glance up to meet Leliana’s before she looks back to her food.

‘Yes. There’s nothing that can be done.’

‘They’re certain?’

‘That they can’t turn stone into flesh? Yes, I think they’re fairly certain.’

‘I see.’

There’s an awkward silence that even Cullen feels, and he grimaces as Artemis reaches for another slice of apple.

‘Well...if there’s anything we can assist with…’

‘I’ll be certain to let you know.’

Another silence before Leliana nods.

‘As you wish. Shall we call the council together for our announcement?’

‘Not now,’ Cullen cuts in before Artemis can answer. ‘Tomorrow. Artemis will need to rest today.’

‘Excuse me? Since when do you get to make that decision for me?’ 

‘Are you telling me that you would wish to go out there now?’

He’s vaguely aware of Leliana and Josephine muttering their excuses and making their escape from the room.

Artemis glares at him, but he can see the indecision in her eyes. And, more so, the weariness.

‘I...could have said that myself, is all.’

‘You could have. But you wouldn’t.’ He crosses to sit on the bed next to her. ‘When we wed, I made a vow to protect you, to ensure you were taken care of. I believe that, on occasion, that means saying no.’

‘Just...ask me, next time.’

He nods, taking her hand in his own, kissing her knuckles. Even as he does, she yawns, leaning into him, and he allows her to lean into his shoulder as she dozes. Exhausted from the events of the past few days, he drifts off too, only to be woken by Artemis’ ragged breathing some time later.

His wife is awake, sitting bolt upright on the bed and clutching at her left arm, just above the bend of her elbow. It doesn’t take him a moment, even in his drowsy state, to realise what the issue is.

‘Artemis? Your arm…’

He shifts to where she’s pulled the covers of the bed away from the limb. The stone segment of her forearm has pulled away completely, leaving raw pink flesh as a stump at the join of her elbow.

‘Does it hurt are? Are you well?’

She shakes her head, then nods.

‘I pulled it and it just...came off. It doesn't hurt it’s just...a shock. But it’s done now. It’s gone.’

He frowns, concerned by what must have gone through her mind to feel the need to pull her own arm off, damaged though it was, and he gives into the urge to pull her close to him again. She tenses in his arms, as if to flee, before she calms again.

‘It’s alright, Cullen,’ her breathing calms as she speaks, ‘it’s done now, and I’m fine.’

‘Why did you not wake me?’

‘You needed the sleep. And I know you would have stopped me. I just wanted it gone. I can get used to missing an arm, but...to have to drag it around would be so much worse. Does that make sense?’

‘I...suppose.’

His wife wriggles in his arms, making herself more comfortable.

‘I can think more clearly now. Tomorrow we go to the council, and tell them of our plans. Then the Inquisition can start anew. We can start anew.’

‘A clean break, as it were?’

‘Yes. A clean break. A new start. And...maybe a new life for us. One that doesn’t involve councils and meetings and saving the world. Maybe one that involves...us, and a house, and a family.’

The idea conjures images in his mind, ones that he had never dared to entertain before, certain that they would be snatched away. But now...now it seemed that there was a chance for that life he never thought he could have and Cullen smiles, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead.

‘I like the sound of that.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. As always, kudos, comments and constructive criticism etc. always appreciated.


	7. Patures old and new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Inquisition's fate decided, Artemis and Cullen attempt to return to normal life. Except life has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this next chapter, hopefully the content will make up for it?
> 
> Enjoy!

The first thing Artemis notices about the loss of her arm, other than the physical implications, is the stares it garners.

Upon walking into the council chamber to break the news of the Inquisition’s future, all eyes had been on her. That wasn’t unexpected, nor really was that the loss of her arm noticed immediately. What she hadn’t expected was that she could practically feel the eyes of the crowd sliding down her shoulder to fixate on the stump. She had tried to ignore it, as best she could, but even as shocking as her announcement was, it seemed her new status as a cripple had been just as interesting to the crowd.

Days later, it still holds true, and her patience for even well intentioned questions about her wellbeing is wearing thin. She doesn’t want the attention, good or bad, she doesn’t want the sympathy, or the help. She wants to get on with her life.

More than anything, she wants her arm back. But, as that’s not going to happen, Artemis muses, ignoring it and doing the best she can is the next best thing. It doesn’t help the growing resentment at those around her though, and more than once she finds herself snapping at servants who have the misfortune to let their eyes linger a moment too long.

‘May I aid you, Lady Artemis?’ comes the familiar question from a young woman, lingering sheepishly in the doorway.

Artemis looks up from her task - packing her clothes back into a trunk, ready for the journey home - eyeing the woman over her shoulder.

‘I’m fine. Thank you. You can leave.’ 

She reaches for another pair of smalls. These, at least, are easy to fold and throw into the chest. Of course, she could ask the servant to do it for her, but she feels the need to do something...mundane. Some small, manageable, dull task that reminds her she can still do something, despite the hindrance of her arm..

A few pairs of knickers later, and she’s done with her undergarments. Which leaves her with the more problematic issue of actual clothing. Artemis grabs at the first item, a loose fitting shirt, pleased when she can lay the item out onto the bed and fold it, slowly. It’s not the best work, but it will do for now and she works steadily, until she comes to a large gown that had been intended for a ball that had never happened. She stares at it, aware that she’s overthinking the issue, wondering how best to get it to fit in the trunk, when a voices sounds behind her again.

‘Are you sure I cannot aid you, my lady?’

She spins on her heel, turning to glare at the girl.

‘Have you been there all this time? I told you, I’m perfectly able to do it myself. Do you think I’m suddenly useless?’

The girl blinks, caught off guard, her eyes widening in the face of Artemis’s wrath.

‘No, my lady, I...I beg your pardon I just thought...’

‘Get out. I’ll call if I need you.’

The girl curtseys hastily, scurrying away, and Artemis snorts, turning back to her packing. Pulling the gown from the bed where it’s been carefully laid out, she stuffs it on top of the rest of the clothes in the trunk and lets the lid fall shut upon it. She glares down at the frilled edges of the dress, as if her rage could make the fabric retract into the chest. 

‘Artemis?’

Cullen’s voice cuts into her anger, and she heaves a sigh, turning to face him as he enters their chambers. His expression, almost permanently that of concern these days, is lightly alarmed for a change.

‘Are you well? The maid seemed a little…’

‘I told her to leave,’ she informs him, dropping onto the large bed that’s now free of clothing.

A dark gold eyebrow raises.

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes. I think she’s just very sensitive.’

‘Well, that seems to be a trend among most of the servants around here in the past few days. How odd.’ He pins her with a knowing look and Artemis squirms, trying not to, even as Cullen’s eyes fall on the travel trunk and the material poking out from it.

‘You finished your packing then?’

‘Uh...yes…’

He saunters to the trunk, lifting the lid to look at the contents.

‘I assume that you’ve decided to never wear this dress again, then?’

She shifts.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well…you’ll never get those creases out now.’

‘And since when have you been a sartorial expert?’

Cullen smiles slightly, plucking the dress from the trunk and moving it to another carry case, taking great care to lay it out flat.

‘I don’t need you to do that for me,’ Artemis reminds him as he closes the lid on the trunk again and sits beside her.

‘I know you don’t. I chose to.’

He takes her remaining hand in his, warm and reassuring, their palms together, fingers intertwining. The warm gold of his wedding band presses against her finger and she glances to it, grimacing, pulling her gaze away. Though she doesn’t need a ring to remind her of the vows they made to one another, it stings that she had lost her ring along with her hand.

Cullen’s thumb runs over her knuckles.

‘I believe the horses are being saddled as we speak. Are you ready to return home?’

‘Don’t we need to finish here?’ She makes to gesture to the room, and the clothes strewn about it, realising that all she can do is sweep the stump of her arm at it.

‘I’m certain the servants can do it. If you wish them to.’

It feels like defeat, to let them handle it. But then, they would have been doing it anyway, had she still had her arm. At least this way she can bury her head quicker in Skyhold’s familiar reaches.

‘That...let’s do that. Let’s go home.’

He nods, standing and gently tugging her with him. Ready to go, they make their way down to the courtyard, a small, high walled area where the horses are ready and waiting. 

Artemis can see the problem before she’s approached her horse.

She halts, turning to Cullen.

‘I can’t ride.’

He pauses with her, golden eyes scanning the situation.

‘I can’t hold the reins properly, Cullen. I won’t be able to control the horse.’

‘We could...loan a carriage, perhaps? If you would feel more comfortable. Though, the mounts know the way. They would likely just follow the road.’

‘Until one of them balks at a stray leaf caught on the breeze and I end up with a broken back as well as a missing arm.’

Cullen frowns. 

‘I’ll speak to someone.’ 

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he pulls away, and she meanders over to the horse that she doesn’t trust herself to ride, patting the gelding on the nose.

‘Sorry boy. I know we were just starting to get to know each other, but I just...can’t…not anymore. You can pull a carriage though, right?’

The horse snorts, a large brown eye regarding her before the animal nods vigorously.

‘I don’t know if that’s you saying yes, but I’ll take it to mean that.’ 

She pats the horse on his neck, settling him.

‘We’ll be able to find a use for him, still.’

Cullen’s voice at her shoulder startles her, and Artemis jumps, spinning to face her husband. 

‘Most Holy has agreed to let her use a carriage of hers. Since we’ll be joining her soon anyway, we can return it easily enough.’

‘Ah...yes, that makes sense.’

‘They grooms are hitching the horses now, if you want to get into the carriage?’

She nods, making her way to where the carriage is being wheeled into the courtyard. It’s a relief to see it’s relatively plain, unlikely to attract attention, and as she closes the door behind her, she hopes she can remain as inconspicuous. At least, until they reach Skyhold.

\--

Travelling by carriage is a lot slower than Artemis remembers, and it makes the journey from the Winter Palace back to Skyhold long and tedious. It only worsens when they begin to climb into the mountains, the rocky, winding trails not built for much more than horses. She wonders how the nobles that visit with their luxurious carriages manage to reach them, and summises that it must be through sheer pig-headedness, and at the cost of horse and servant.

By some miracle, she only has to get out of the carriage and walk once, where a section of a path has crumbled too much to allow for passage of horse, carriage and herself at one time. She doesn’t mind. It’s good to get out into the fresh air, sharp as it is, and it gives her half a mind to try and ride, rather than face the confines of the carriage again. The sight of a far more able horseman struggling to control his own mount further up the trail, however, dissuades her and with a reluctant sigh, she climbs back into the carriage once the dangerous section of road is behind them.

In her carriage, alone, it gives her time to think. Too much time, as they all know, and despite Cullen and Josie’s occasional appearances to try and provide companionship, she dwells on topics she knows she shouldn't. The thought of how to face a life like this, dependent, weighs heavy on her and the idea that she will be in the limelight for a long time yet, doesn’t help. So many eyes on her, waiting to see where she takes the Inquisition next...she almost doesn’t want it. Perhaps, under the circumstances, it really would be best to hand the Inquisition’s reins over to someone else. Have the life that she wanted, instead of the one she’s been given.

She wonders at the possibility of children, excited by the notion it could become reality, frightened at the concept of caring for a child when she can barely care for herself now. Cullen tries to remind her that it will get easier, that she’ll learn to compensate for the loss of her arm. She knows he’s trying to help, but it doesn’t ease the little bubble of anger in her chest that threatens to burst, because how could he possibly know any of that?

Still, he’s not fled from her yet, even under her wrath, and she’s comforted by the notion of her stalwart husband. At least he will always be a constant for her. And perhaps he’s right too, that she will learn to cope, and that the little flickers of pain in the hand that’s no longer there, and the itches of her arm and twitches in her missing fingers will eventually fade, once her body adjusts to the loss too.

It’s the sudden transition of wooden wheels on dirt to smooth stone that announces to Artemis that she’s home. The familiar horn blast from the gatehouse only acts as confirmation and in a rush of longing, Artemis pulls the curtains aside, looking out to Skyhold’s high walls, the familiar banners whipping in frigid air.

A moment later and they’re rolling over the drawbridge, portcullis lifting, and the carriage rattles to a halt. Cullen’s golden curls appear in the window a second later, and the door swings open.

He greets her with a gentle smile.

‘My lady.’

She takes his proffered hand with her own, letting him help her down.

‘Home sweet home,’ she comments and he leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

‘Indeed.’

They began the walk back to their quarters, the familiar faces of their staff greeting them as they walk. There’s an air of excitement to the hold, and it’s not long before Scout Harding rushes over to offer her congratulations on their marriage. Not long after Dagna follows suit, and a growing number of well wishers. Not one, Artemis notes, mentions her arm and she’s glad that it doesn’t seem like a big deal to them. 

And it’s so easy to fall back into the feeling of being home. It makes the loss a little easier, and as days and weeks go by, she finds the familiarity of her staff helps her cope. Dagna, to her credit, offers to craft something, some sort of enchanted replacement for her, but Artemis finds that just the thought of it makes her cringe. As clean as the wound was and as perfectly healed it seems, the idea of something pressing against the stump makes her shudder and she politely declines. Perhaps, she tries to console a crestfallen Dagna, in time she would become more comfortable with the idea.

How long that time would be…she can’t say. Happier as she is to be back home, it doesn’t take away the basic fact that life seems to be so much more difficult. She turns her attention back to the Inquisition, and it’s new purpose. The library hasn’t got much material in the way of elven lore, so she pulls in favours, requesting books on the subject from across all of Thedas. While she waits, she works with Cullen to weed out the spies in their midst. The army halves in size, as they had agreed, prefering now to work with small, select numbers of people.

That should put Alistair and Elizabeth at ease, she thinks, sneering at the thought. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with them for some time now. She doesn’t think she can handle seeing them, not after such betrayal and she requests that Josephine deals with anything to do with any nation, for the moment. She’s so fed up with politics.

But of course, fate has it’s odd sense of humour and no sooner has she made the decision than she and Cullen receive a summons. Leliana would be attending a gathering at Denerim Palace, at the King and Queen’s invitation. What for, even the Divine isn’t fully certain, but with the Inquisition reformed it would be important that it presents itself in its new role; as protectors of the Divine and agents of her will.

The carriage is summoned again, having not yet been returned to the Divine anyway, and they begin the long journey towards Ferelden. They meet with Leliana on the King’s Road, a few days later, and that at least, provides some cheer. Artemis rides in Leliana’s carriage, who speaks of anything but the reason they’re travelling in the first place. 

‘I have my suspicions,’ is all she’ll say, with a coy smile, and then turn her attention to something else, ranging from the complexities of international politics, to Solas’s mysterious disappearance, to the Fereldan fashion. Though the latter is a joke in it’s own right, of course, but there is the matter that they must present themselves in a particular way. Even in Ferelden, clothes are a statement, though perhaps not as nuanced in their meanings than that of Orlais or Tevinter.

Still, winter is on its way, and Ferelden is cold. And Artemis has always had a love of velvet and soft wool, if not so much of fur and feather.

The slow transition from mountain to lowland to the high cliffs of the coast tell of their progress through the country. Leliana is always happy to point out areas of interest, from the Storm Coast that Artemis is all too familiar with, to the Teyrnship of Highever. They stop at the castle, for a night, where they meet with Teyrn Fergus Cousland. The man, handsome enough, with a shock of chestnut hair tinged with grey, has recently remarried, having lost his first wife shortly before the fifth blight began, and his new wife has even more recently birthed him a new heir.

It only registers to Artemis that the Teyrn is none other than the elder brother of Queen Elizabeth, when Leliana expresses her surprise that the queen has not chosen to visit her new nephew.

He explains, with an amused but easy manner, that his sister has expressed her excitement and offered congratulations but had not been feeling well enough to travel recently. He seems unconcerned though, and reassures them that he and his new family will be travelling to the palace as well, at the request of the king. 

The whole thing sits uncomfortably with Artemis, the information not adding up. Why would they be invited to the castle if the queen was not well enough to entertain. And what was important enough to make her brother travel with such a young family?

They stay only for the night, setting out for the palace again the next morning. Teyrn Fergus assures them that they will follow them shortly, but Artemis only finds herself to be relieved to be away from the man. The similarities he shares with his sister serve to make Artemis remember her ire at the woman. It puts her in a foul mood, one that she can’t admit to Leliana, despite the woman’s enquiring. 

The next night, they stop at Amaranthine, a city that sits dangerously close to the sea. There’s no reigning Arl in residence, she learns. Instead, the Grey Wardens seem to act as stewards for the Arling. Artemis learns, much to her irritation, that the Arl is none other than Elizabeth, as the Arling had been gifted to the Ferelden Grey Wardens. A boon for their aid in the blight.

Everything, she begins to realise, comes back to Alistair and Elizabeth and their role in the blight. It shouldn't be a surprise, but it irritates her all the same. She’d hoped that she could at least not have to listen to stories of the monarchs until they were in Denerim, but their reputation extended to all areas of the country.

Cullen seems just as discontented with the situation, quieter than usual, but he at least seems to be able to distract himself by speaking with some of the Grey Wardens in the town. One of their more senior members is nodding with agreement at some comment her husband makes and she strains to listen to their conversation.

‘He always was an idiot. I couldn’t bring myself to care for him, even when he was a warden. To abandon the order over a cat…’

The man pushes a strand of dark hair back behind his ear.

‘Still. What’s done is done. We must turn our attention to the future. That, at least, seems more settled.’

‘With the wardens in chaos?’ Cullen asks.

The man shrugs.

‘We have always operated a little independently of the order. Elizabeth was careful about that. She struggled to hand her command over to Clarel. And now I see why. We try to remain loyal to her, not the first warden.’

‘Does that not undermine the entire point of the order?’

‘Perhaps. But the first warden is an arse.’

Artemis excuses herself at that, choosing to retire for the night. No doubt she would get to hear more about Elizabeth’s wonderful exploits when they reach the palace, just a day away now.

The notion fills her with dread and she sleeps poorly that night. It puts her in a foul mood for that day, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Leliana. Still, the Divine chooses not to pry, instead commenting on the scenery as it changes around them. Denerim, though still on the coast, lies in a valley, bordered on by steep hills and green woods. A great mountain, Dragon’s Peak, announces the entrance to the wide valley that the city nestles in, and even with her own limited military knowledge, Artemis can appreciate the location. It would be a difficult place to lay siege to. Within a few hours of passing beneath the mountains shadow, the road widens, becoming well paved and the horses hooves clack sharply against stone.

‘Ah...we’re at the city gates,’ Leliana comments, pushing open a curtain to allow a greater view and Artemis leans to peer ahead of the carriage. Before them, in hewn stone, is a huge grey gatehouse, it’s heavy wooden gates wide open. The portcullis is raised, ready to permit common and noble folk alike, the drawbridge down, its chains rusty with disuse.

‘They rarely close the city gates,’ Leliana informs her. ‘The drawbridge was last raised…’

‘During the Blight?’

‘Noticed a theme, have we?’

She grunts, but still, looks out upon the city as they enter. Crimson and gold banners hang from the walls of the gatehouse, tattered and faded, but proud, caught in the sharp wind, fluttering over the heads of carved hounds that seem to guard the city.

They pass under walls several feet thick, into a wide, cobbled area where a host of guards stand ready. Their own procession comes to a halt as the city guard fall into formation around them to escort them through the city.

‘Ah, we’re taking the short route,’ Leliana comments again, as the carriage takes a sharp right. ‘Had we continued on, we would have been into the market district, but it appears we’ll be going straight to the palace.’

They pass over a wide river than churns beneath them, its water surprisingly clear as it rushes further into the city. Their procession turns away, towards high grey and white walls, shingled roofs and colourful banners. The presence of guards and the cleanliness of the streets tells her this is one of the city’s finer districts. They join onto a wide road, trees and statues lining it’s sweeping length and then, suddenly, around a wide corner, they’re passing through more gates, and higher walls and thicker stone. As the mingling of many horses hooves become unbearably sharp on cobblestone roads, they pass over another drawbridge, under another portcullis and then before them an unexpectedly large castle stands on a steep hill.

She catches Leliana’s eye as the woman smiles at her, the carriage juddering to a halt.

‘Welcome to Denerim Palace.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. As always, please leave kudos, comments etc. if you enjoyed :)


	8. Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Divine Victoria and her personal guard arrive at Denerim, to the welcome of King Alistair and Queen Elizabeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Sorry for the delay (again) in getting this chapter written. Hopefully it was worth waiting for :S

In the earliest years of Cullen’s life, money had always been an issue for his family. Not so much at the time of his eldest sister’s birth, or his own, but certainly by the time Branson and Rosalie had arrived. A family with four children, though small by most standards in Ferelden, was quite enough mouths to feed and though Cullen could happily say that he and his siblings never went hungry, he wasn’t sure if the same could be said for his parents. It had been a blessing, in a way, that his mother could no longer carry children after Rosalie’s difficult delivery. Particularly after having witnessed his uncle’s family struggle under the financial demands of ten children. And the toll that the deaths of numerous children, both stillborn and those who survived the initial trauma, had taken on the man.

The relative poverty meant that prior to joining the chantry, Cullen and his siblings had not seen much outside of Honnleath’s woody hedgerows. They had been taken to Redcliffe’s market, once or twice, a special occasion to visit some distant relative that he could no longer remember the name of. An event which at the time had been the most exciting thing to have happened in his short life. 

Upon deciding to become a Templar, he had been sent to the nearest chantry, again a role that left little time for exploring other settlements, though he’d managed to visit Lothering during that time and from there, he had been stationed at Kinloch Hold for all of fourteen months before he’d been relocated to Kirkwall.

In short, Cullen had never actually seen very much of his homeland whilst he had actually lived there, and though he had once dreamed of visiting Denerim, he had forgotten about it when the realities of his posting in the Templar order had occurred. To be standing in Denerim Palace was something his younger self would no doubt have been ecstatic about.

Under the circumstances, he feels anything but.

Atop his horse, the commander of the Inquisition swallows, turning to look behind him as the carriage carrying Artemis and Leliana rolls to a halt. The accompanying guard party, 50 men strong, hurries to fill the courtyard, fanning out around the carriage until it is all but enclosed by a line of armoured bodies, even as the royal soldiers, already present, arrange themselves carefully. A line of them has accompanied them from the moment they touched the outskirts of Denerim’s Hold, though Teyrn Cousland’s handpicked guards and a small number of Grey Wardens had joined them on the way, making the travelling party far larger and more conspicuous than he was comfortable with. 

The Teyrn’s own carriage, carrying the man’s wife and child, rolls in alongside the Divine’s, small and brown next to the gleaming white contraption that the chantry saw fit to bestow on Leliana.

The royal guards surround them too, though he’s certain the motion is made to protect the Palace’s new guests. It still feels somewhat intimidating, particularly as the gates shut behind them and closes off the rest of Denerim.

Dismounting, he moves to open the carriage door, his hound beside him as he does. The hound hasn’t left his side since they returned from Orlais, ever watchful of his new master, and Cullen offers him a fond pat on the head just before he opens the door. Leliana takes his offered hand, stepping down from the vehicle, somehow just as graceful in the rather flouncy dress she’s required to wear. Artemis follows a moment later, and he offers her a soft smile, trying to reassure her. His wife smiles back, though the expression doesn’t reach her eyes, and he knows that there’s little that will calm her anxiety until they leave. Reconciling with Alistair and Elizabeth seems an unlikely outcome. After their actions, he’s not certain that he or Artemis even want to try.

He turns, letting Artemis’s hand go. His function as the Divine’s personal guard means that his affections, and relations, have to play second fiddle and he meets her eyes, offering a whispered apology, before taking his place at Leliana’s side. Artemis stands to the other side of her, staff in hand, and with a nod to confirm they’re ready, they make for the open doors, walking down a line of the palace guards. A long blast of trumpets announces the presence of the Divine.

Before they even reach the doors, however, there’s motion from inside, a few more guards filtering out, drumming staccato notes in their march. A moment later, and the face Cullen had been dreading seeing appears, King Alistair emerging from the darkness of the palace, Queen Elizabeth beside him. As courtesy dictates they descend the stairs to meet their Divine, dropping to their knees before Leliana.

‘Most Holy,’ Alistair greets, not looking up from the ground just in front of Leliana’s feet, ‘Denerim is honoured to have you.’

It’s oddly gratifying to see the monarchs have to bow so low.

‘And I am delighted to be back in Denerim, your Majesties,’ Leliana responds, offering her hand, and Alistair briefly kisses the ring he’s presented with. Elizabeth follows suit a second later. ‘Thank you both, you may rise.’

They do so, Alistair offering his hand to Elizabeth as he does. Cullen watches them both carefully, trying to discern any reaction to himself of Artemis on their part. There is none, as if they’ve never met.

‘We would be honoured, Most Holy, if you would join us for the breaking of bread in the great hall, after your long journey,’ Elizabeth offers, pointedly keeping her gaze on Leliana, as if trying not to notice Artemis.

‘Of course. And I can assume that my people will be taken care of?’ Leliana gestures to her entourage.

‘The Grandmaster has made preparations for them. He’ll see to it that all their needs are met.’

Cullen assumes that means them as well, but as Alistair moves to let Leliana climb the steps into the palace she gesture for he and Artemis to accompany her.

Alistair and Elizabeth make no comment, instead leading them over the moat. Inside the palace’s outermost defences they follow a straight stone path, bordered by swathes of green lawn that stretch out on both sides, disappearing around the corner of the palace walls. As they near the palace, they pass through stone arches, sconces flickering against them even in broad daylight, servants bustling around, making preparations. 

They pause at the approach of the Divine, bowing low until they’ve passed into an area Cullen can only describe as an open lobby. The arches continue, topped by a high ceiling now, walls giving some shelter. There are benches along the length of the walkway, urns overflowing with summer’s last flowers and he realises it’s a waiting room of sorts. Ahead, there’s a large doorway, at least the height of two men and wide enough to let five in abreast. Two guards, rigidly straight, stand either side of the door. They don’t flinch even as their Divine and monarchs approach, except to rap on the doors with their halberds.

With a groan, a parting appears in the centre of the dark wood, the doors giving way to an antechamber. Fresh rushes litter the floor, sconces burning, but Cullen doesn’t have time to study any details of the room. Instead, the next set of doors, smaller than those they’ve just passed through, but far more ornate, are swinging open.

A rich red and gold carpet runs the length of the room, from the doorway to the throne that stands at the far wall. The room makes Skyhold’s great hall seem small, even if the throne isn’t as large as the dragon’s maw that Artemis loathed.

People stop as they enter, nobles dressed in finery standing to attention, watching as Alistair and Elizabeth lead them to the dais where the thrones stand. They don’t sit, instead taking a place behind a small table that’s been set up. A servant hurries forwards to set a small loaf upon the silver platter. It’s rather plain, Cullen notices, though he supposes the ceremony is more important than the food itself. 

‘We welcome you, Most Holy, and your attendants, to take freely of the hospitality that we, and Ferelden, have to offer,’ Elizabeth states. ‘We are at your service, and humbled to be so.’

‘I gladly accept Ferelden’s hospitality, your majesty,’ Leliana intones.

Cullen watches as Alistair nods at her words, taking the loaf and cutting it in two. He offers one half to Leliana, who takes it from him, pulling a chunk from it to eat. The other half is cut in two again, and the king offers the smaller pieces to Cullen and Artemis.

He’s not sure what to do with that, though a quick look from Leliana tells him he should accept the offer and he takes the bread from the plate, bowing his head as he does, before eating a small portion of it. It’s dense, and heavy, slightly salted and he wishes for a glass of something to wash it down with. A moment later, and Elizabeth is pouring wine for them. Again, Leliana is catered for first, the largest vessel being offered to her, before the queen offers them two smaller goblets. He follows Leliana’s suit of taking a sip before returning the vessel to the table.

A slight smile forms on Alistair’s face, a little of the man’s personality breaking through the ritual, though the expression seems to be only for the Divine.

‘Welcome to Denerim, and to Ferelden. Our staff are at your disposal, Most Holy. Our Seneschal will show you to your quarters, if it pleases you,’ Elizabeth supplies.

‘Quite,’ Alistair agrees, his tone suggesting that he’s holding back some further comment.

‘Thank you, Queen Elizabeth. I should like to freshen up, and I shall see you for the evening meal.’

‘As you wish, your...Divinity.’ Alistair bows low, Elizabeth offering a curtsey as she shoots Alistair a warning look from the corner of her eye.

Before Cullen can think on it too much, the Seneschal is approaching them, and in quick, if respectful order, they’re guided from the room and into a quiet hallway. The rumble of human voices is cut off as the heavy door shuts and he can almost see Artemis relax now that they’re out of the awkward situation. Still, they don’t have a chance to speak as the Seneschal guides them through winding corridors and up a flight of stairs.

The higher floors of the palace are just as well decorated as the lower rooms, though there’s more of Alistair and Elizabeth’s personal tastes displayed here. They pass a cabinet, a mahogany behemoth with glass doors, filled with odd little trinkets. Leliana pauses to look, despite their guide’s discomfort at her peering at his majesty’s belongings. 

‘I remember when she gave him that,’ she remarks, pointing to a stone inscribed with runes that are nearly illegible. A coin lies alongside it, it’s markings worn smooth, so that it’s little more than a disc of copper. It’s oddly similar to the coin that Cullen had given Artemis. He tries not to dwell on it.

The seneschal, nearly vibrating with concern, clears his throat quietly.

‘Not to interrupt most Holy’s perusings but…’

‘You need to get me safely ensconced in my rooms, yes,’ Leliana finishes for the man and she waves for him to lead on.

Her rooms, as it happens, are only a few doors from where they currently stand. The outer door, already flanked by two Inquisition soldiers, bears the symbol of a Mabari upon it and the seneschal opens the door for Leliana to enter.

The room that they enter into is a large but mostly empty chamber, a waiting parlour of sorts, and he quickly leads them through to the main sitting room, giving them a tour of the chambers amenities. A large bedroom stands behind double doors at the far end of the room, surprisingly airy and light considering the size of the palace. Yellow silk curtains have been pulled open to reveal the midday sun. 

In order they’re shown around the bathroom, the office, and the dressing room. 

With the tour complete, the seneschal bows low.

‘If you require anything at all, most holy, please do not hesitate to let us know. Queen Elizabeth has offered the services of Lady Megan for your stay, should you wish to make use of her.’

‘That is one of the queen’s ladies in waiting, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, my Divine.’

‘That’s most kind of her. I will call upon Lady Megan should I have use of her. But for now, a little bit of time to rest from the journey would suit me most.’

‘As you wish.’

‘Would you see to it that Lady Artemis and Ser Cullen are catered for? They are both free to do as they wish for the remainder of the day.’

‘Of course. If you would like to follow me, your rooms are across the hall.’

They follow without question as the seneschal bows once more and leads them from the room and across the hall. The rooms they’re shown to are far smaller than Leliana’s but comfortable, almost cosy. The only downside that Cullen can find, is that there’s no natural light, with the room situated on the palace’s interior.

Still, there’s a four poster bed that dominates the bedchamber, tubs large enough for both of them to bathe in, wardrobes that have already been filled with their possessions, and even a large feather cushion by the fireside for the Mabari. He trots to it immediately, sniffing and padding around on it for several minutes, before flopping down and gnawing at the beef bone that’s been placed there for him.

‘So, what does my love think we should do now?’ Cullen asks. He attempts to make his circuit of the room look casual, though he can’t help but peer into corners, looking for anything that’s amiss.

Artemis smiles knowingly, sinking into an armchair.

‘Knowing courtly rules, we should probably change. Regardless of the state of our clothing. It would probably cause offence to remain as we are.’

‘Yes. Probably.’

‘And then we can...explore the palace, I suppose. Or go into the city,’ Cullen suggests.

‘The city?’ Artemis asks, unfastening the buttons of her coat and managing to shrug out of the item without too much difficulty.

‘Yes. I’ve never been into Denerim proper. And...we never really did have a honeymoon. It might be a moment of respite for us. I suspect the next few days will not be easy.’

Artemis nods, letting her hair down, running her fingers through it to loosen its tangles.

‘Sounds like a plan then. And if I’m honest, I’d rather not spend too long in the palace. It’s just…’

‘Too awkward. Even if we need not see them.’

A smile graces her face slowly.

‘My husband knows me well.’

‘Your husband agrees wholeheartedly.’

Her smile grows wider as Artemis tugs at her tunic, and he crosses to her, touching her hip before gripping the clothing, helping her to wriggle out of it. There’s a moment of hesitation, an argument brewing on her lips, and he loosens his grip, ready to step back if she needs it, relieved when she relaxes, letting him help her. It’s the last thing he ever wants to do to patronise her, to make her feel like she can’t manage on her own. But he hates to watch her struggle as she learns how to cope with only one arm.

‘I can manage from here.’ She smiles, just as careful with his feelings as he is with hers, and he nods, leaving her to it, watching instead as she strips to her smalls and then pads into the adjacent bathing room. He can hear water sloshing as she bathes quickly, re-appearing with her wet hair hanging over one shoulder.

‘I might need help with this though.’ She gestures to the wet mass and he nods, taking the towel she offers, and tousling the long strands. 

‘How would my lady like it styled?’

‘Styled? By you?’

‘When my sisters were young they used to make me braid their hair. I don’t know why, they were quite able to do it themselves.’

He can’t see her smiling, but he can sense it even as he brushes through her hair until it’s straight and smooth.

‘A braid then.’

He complies quickly, working the strands together, impressed himself that he even remembers how to do it correctly. Task complete, he makes his way to the bathing chamber and quickly strips and bathes himself, washing the dust from his hair before dressing in less conspicuous clothing than his usual armour.

Artemis has already pulled her boots on by the time he returns, old, soft leather things that are comfortable to walk in. He can’t help but observe how carefully chosen her outfit is; wealthy enough to be treated well by the local nobility, but not so gaudily decadent to attract too much attention should they make it into the more common areas of the city.

Cullen tries to mirror her, hoping that he won’t let her down with his attire. But she seems happy enough and eager to get going. He suspects the desire to get out Alistair and Elizabeth’s home has as much to do with as actually wanting to see the city. He takes her hand, whistling for the mabari to come to heel and steps out into the corridor. 

The guards by the door offer a slight bow, informing them that they will notify the divine of their absence and so, minds eased, they make a brisk walk to the end of the corridor and down the stairs. 

From here it’s difficult to find the way out, not wanting to take the route they came from for fear of returning to the throne room. The servants are helpful though, more than happy to tell them the way and, after a few attempts, they find their way to a side door that lets them out to the lawns near the drawbridge.

‘Well...that’s far more convoluted than it needs to be.’ Artemis sniffs, gripping his hand tighter as they walk to the drawbridge to find a groom waiting with two mounts. The horses aren’t their own, likely a loan from the monarchy.

‘My lord, my lady, I was informed you wished to go into town,’ the groom supplies with a bow. ‘If I might invite you to borrow a steed? It’s a long walk into town. A good few miles at least.’

Cullen can practically hear Artemis’s heart speed up with apprehension.

‘Thank you,’ his wife offers, her voice higher than usual, ‘but...I am no stranger to walking.’

‘They are both very reliable mounts, my lady, no need to worry.’

‘Thank you, again, but I believe I wasn’t clear enough. I have no desire, and,’ she adds, presenting the stump of her arm to the lad, ‘little ability to do so.’

At that, Cullen expects the groom to beat a hasty retreat, but to his credit, he seems only perplexed. After a moment, the boy seems to realise something.

‘Ah. My lady has never ridden one handed?’

‘You can ride one handed?’

‘Yes my lady. Many of the lords and ladies of Ferelden do. It leaves the sword arm free for defence, for many. Though some simply prefer it over taking a rein in each hand. Her Majesty, for example.’

‘Oh.’

‘I could show my lady, if it would be of use.’

Artemis’s hand immediately pulls free of his.

‘Show me.’ There’s a defiance in her tone, as if this is some challenge to Elizabeth, and he watches as Artemis drinks in the words of the groom and quickly follows his instructions. She requires the aid of a box to climb onto the mare’s back, and when she’s in the saddle she sways once or twice. After a few minutes, however, and under the groom’s guidance, she’s gained enough confidence to move the animal into a trot.

It’s enough for what they need today and he thanks the groom as he climbs onto his own steed’s back.

‘Pleasure, sers,’ the lad offers, and bows before stepping out of their way.

The horses are eager to get moving and they trot, carrying them out of the castle grounds and onto the winding streets of the upper districts. Here they see more of the nobles’ homes, all of them great stone mansions with their own towers and walls. But it’s not this part of the town that Artemis is interested in seeing.

He lets his wife lead. It’s good to see her on horseback again, a step in the right direction for her recovery, and the further they get from the palace, the more relaxed she seems, her shoulders loosening as she sways with the motion of the horse. As they get closer to the market district of the city they begin to encounter more people, a greater variety than just the few nobles. They gain a few looks, but most of the townsfolk are too concerned with going about their own business.

Cullen guides his horse closer to Artemis’s, catching the smile she aims at him.

‘It’s good to be so...inconspicuous,’ she comments. 

He has to agree. With their faces having become so well known, especially in Orlais, it is good to not be noticed so much.

Noise greets them as they pass down a wide cobbled street, the rumble of multiple voices and the mingling of instruments. Overhead, bunting of all colours has been strung between buildings, garlands and bunches of wildflowers hang on the doors of shops and taverns, and even the falling autumn leaves have been crafted into colourful decorations, their red and gold tones interspersed with pale blue and white. The streets, too, are clean, recently swept by either the local merchants or perhaps simply at the order of the monarchy.

‘This...is not what I expected,’ Artemis murmurs, eyes wide and happy as she takes in the streets. Their feet carry them to the centre of town, the market square, and he reaches for her hand, clinging to her lest she be swept away by the crowds.

Holding tight, Cullen scans the steady flow of people and the building around them, spying a quiet spot near a rather portly dwarf. Tugging on Artemis’s, hand he guides her through the crowd, hearing her sigh as they enter the quiet patch. 

‘Busier than you anticipated?’ he asks, and she nods, eyes flitting over the mass of people.

‘Everyone always said that Ferelden is a backwater, that the streets of the towns are dead since the blight…’ She shakes her head. ‘I thought it would be like Crestwood.’

‘Crestwood is a backwater. Even by Ferelden’s standards,’ he informs her gently.

‘Yes. I should have expected differently. Ferelden never seems to match the descriptions I hear of it.’

‘You mean, it isn’t raining, brown, and smelling of dog waste?’

He smiles slightly, knowing the reputation that Ferelden holds, particularly overseas. No-one ever seemed to understand how green the countryside is, or how colourful and lively the cities could be.

‘No. You know I’ve seen Redcliffe and the Hinterlands, and the coast and the mires down south. I just didn’t think the city would be so big. Even Redcliffe town is small, compared to most.’

‘I take your meaning.’

‘So...where should we start?’

‘As we’re here, the market would seem sensible. I’ve heard tell that there are some interesting shops around.’

‘Speaking of interesting shops, my lord and lady…’

The rumbling bass of the portly dwarf interrupts them and Cullen looks to the merchant curiously. The dwarf steps back, waving a hand over his wares.

‘Can I interest you in some fine dwarven crafts? Direct from Orzammar!’

‘Orzammar?’ Artemis questions peering at an array of gaudily golden items. ‘The dwarven city?’

‘Exactly, my lady.’

‘Perhaps later, thank you,’ Cullen cuts in. Artemis looks at him curiously, but smiles and nods to the merchant who looks rather deflated. As they walk away Cullen catches the man muttering to himself.

‘Why?’ Artemis asks.

‘I believe if it’s dwarven crafts you wish for, you will likely find better quality at Orzammar itself. I spoke with Dagna. The dwarves only allow the items they consider to be of poor quality to come to the surface. Unless it’s commissioned at great expense.’

‘Oh.’

They walk back towards the crowd and she takes his hand.

‘Right. Then how about we get some food. I’m starving.’

Cullen agrees, hearing his stomach rumble lowly. They find their way to a nearby inn where they eat before heading back into the marketplace. He can’t say that he particularly appreciates the number of people present, but Artemis seems to enjoy the bustle and it’s worth it to see her happy. 

And he can’t deny that, whilst he’s never been to Denerim before, there’s something about the people, their character, perhaps, that feels familiar. Comfortable. Even the harshness of Denerim’s lower class accent is vaguely calming.

Hours pass as they visit stalls and places of note, and they pause in town to eat again, taking a seat in a lively pub just off the market centre. It’s populated by a number of members of the higher classes but they only receive cursory glances. The staff of the tavern seem as happy to serve them as anyone else too, and as they sit and eat, Cullen watches the people pouring in until every table is full.

The hubbub makes it hard to concentrate, but he can see that Artemis too is listening to the conversations around them. All of them, it seems, are nobles from across Ferelden, invited to tomorrow’s gathering by the king and queen and everyone echoes the same thoughts; what was the reason? None of them seemed to know, only that the monarchy’s closest friends and every noble worth inviting was there. Or all of those that could make it, anyway.

‘And no one knows why?’

Artemis asks, aloud. It catches the attention of a noble standing nearby, an elderly man supporting himself on a cane.

‘None. All we have is rumours. But their majesties called and so we came.’

‘Rumours of what?’

At that, the old man chuckles.

‘You name it. Abdication seems to be the favourite theory. Though I doubt it.’

‘People think that the king and queen are going to abdicate?’ Artemis asks, incredulous. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

The man nods.

‘Agreed. King Alistair and Queen Elizabeth have given everything for their country. The only thing they haven’t is their lives, and an heir. Though there’s no lack of trying on both of those parts.’

He chuckles again.

‘But there are more who think that their rule has taken its toll on them. Especially in the last few months.’

‘Why the last few months?’

The lord gives Artemis a look that falls somewhere between amused and perturbed. 

‘Your own Inquisition has caused a great deal of trouble for them. It was quite clear that they had no desire to cut ties as they did. But the court demanded it.’

That's news to Cullen, and Artemis too. The noble smiles at the confusion on Artemis’s face.

‘Surely you understand it, Lady Inquisitor?’

‘Understand what?’

At that the man looks somewhat uncomfortable.

‘Perhaps it is not my place to tell you this, but, I am surprised you are not already aware of the rumours.’

‘Meaning what, my lord?’ Cullen cuts in, anxious as to where this is going.

‘Yourselves and their majesties were seen spending much time together. There are rumours as to the...nature of how that time was spent.’

Artemis’s face turns an alarming shade of red within seconds of the noble divulging the information and Cullen can feel the heat rising within his own cheeks.

‘Yes,’ the man nods, ‘quite the scandal that would be. Though I’m certain, particularly from your reaction, that there’s no substance to them. Nevertheless, you can see how it would put the king and queen in an awkward situation.’

Cullen has no words in that moment, understanding of at least some of Alistair and Elizabeth’s motivations.

‘Just a little forewarning for you both, lest you weren’t aware of the situation. At any rate, I’ll bid you both a good evening, my lady wife is waiting.’

The man excuses himself, hobbling off on his cane before Cullen even realises that he doesn’t know who he is. Artemis stares after him, even as a maid comes to clear the table. Cullen waves her away once she’s done, turning down the offer of dessert.

‘We...should go,’ Artemis murmurs, casting a glance around the room. 

Cullen’s already spotted the few glances they’re receiving and with the news of the rumours about them currently circulating, it makes for an uncomfortable sensation.

‘Agreed. Besides, it’s late. Returning to the palace would be best.’

He leaves a handful of coins on the table as he stands, reaching for Artemis’s hand and letting her lead him from the tavern. Outside the air is crisp and he sighs in relief, stepping out of the way of a couple just entering the establishment.

They make their way to their horses, still waiting patiently in the stables and they take the reins as offered by the groom. Putting their heels to their mounts, they hurry from the marketplace, back towards the upper districts.

‘Everyone...knows.’ Artemis breathes when they’re alone, trotting along a cobbled street lit only by braziers. The wind suddenly feels sharply cold.

‘No. Everyone suspects. But Alistair and Elizabeth would not let those rumours stand...if they are aware of them.’

‘They must know. And from the sounds of it…someone has used that rumour to put their rule under strain.’

‘They could have explained the situation to us. Perhaps we would have come up with a solution.’

Artemis shakes her head.

‘It wouldn’t be that simple. If there’s pressure, there’s little time to act. And they did try. That letter, remember?’

Some of the anger, the resentment, that’s been simmering in Cullen’s stomach for the past few weeks begins to ease. But he needs to hear it from them first, to understand the situation in full before he’s ready to begin to forgive them.

‘I think perhaps there are issue at work here that run deeper than we previously thought.’ Artemis sighs and his heart struggles at the sight of her weariness. ‘But it would be so much easier to just be angry at them.’

‘Indeed. Though we cannot afford to dwell on it now. I believe our best course of action will be to wait to see what tomorrow’s ball brings.’

‘You mean you don’t want to burst in, all trebuchets firing?’ Artemis teases. ‘Is my husband learning the art of patience and subtlety?’

‘Your husband is being cautious not to take a course of action that could result in trouble for his wife, or his Divine.’ He bites his lip, looking up at the palace as it looms closer. ‘I am...out of my depth, Artemis. I only hope to not act hastily and make the situation worse.’

‘That makes two of us,’ she smiles, understanding clear in her expression and his heart beats faster, ‘but as you say, best to see what happens tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll find something that changes our understanding again. Or perhaps...perhaps we just have to walk away.’

‘Perhaps,’ he echoes. ‘At any rate, I will be pleased to sleep in a comfortable bed tonight. The camp rolls have done little for my back.’

She says nothing to that, though he knows she’s laughing at him, and trying not to show it. At a few years younger than himself, it seems that she’s not begun to suffer the effects of age as he has yet. He’s thankful for that, at least, if a little irritated that it seems to have started so soon in his life.

Just another niggling issue to contend with, along with everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. Kudos, comments and constructive criticism always greatly appreciated :)


	9. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to break the news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all
> 
> Sorry again for the long absence and lack of update for this. I did get a little bit distracted over the last few months, but hopefully will be getting my attention back to writing properly soon (though I'm pretty sure I say that every time I update). 
> 
> I'm undecided if this chapter's actually any good, but hopefully it'll provide some entertainment, and at the very least, sets us up for a wonderfully heavy chapter next...
> 
> Enjoy!

‘Your Majesty, most of the guests are gathered in the great hall. We should begin shortly.’

Alistair grunts at the words, glancing over to Denethal.

‘Elizabeth and I will be there when we’re ready. It won’t be long.’

The seneschal doesn’t seem entirely convinced of that but he nods anyway, closing the door to the king’s private wardrobe.

Around him, Alistair’s grooms set to helping him into the final details of his attire. The outfit is heavy, layers of cotton, leather and fur, and he grimaces as Tristan drapes a heavy cloak over his shoulders, tying it in place. It’s a lovely item, a rich red edged in gold, the rampant Mabari embroidered onto it. 

It doesn’t escape his notice that he’s essentially wrapped in Ferelden’s flag, but he supposes that it fits. Today, of all days, he’s confirming his position as the country’s ruler again, securing everything he and Elizabeth had worked for for so long with the announcement of their heir’s conception.

He should be excited. He should be proud, ready to hold his head high and walk into the hall. Instead his heart quavers in his chest, to know that Artemis and Cullen will be there.

It had been evident that they were less than pleased with them in even just the few minutes they had been in each other’s presence. He couldn’t blame them. And this news would not help the matter any. Not that anything could be done to change it now.

Behind him, Tristan rises onto his tiptoes, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders before dropping back to his normal height, moving swiftly to gather up Alistair’s crown. Alistair takes it from him without further thought, fitting it into place upon his brow. Tristan nods in approval, before opening the door that leads into the sitting room. He passes through, waiting for Elizabeth, tugging at his cuffs until he’s satisfied that there’s enough on display.

He doesn’t know why he cares so much. He doesn’t usually.

A knock at the door, and Denethal appears again, worry creasing the already deep lines in his face further.

‘King Alistair, we must not keep the Divine waiting.’

‘Where is she?’

‘In her chambers, sire. She is ready, however.’

‘I’m sure she can spare us a moment, I…’

The door to Elizabeth’s wardrobe opens, interrupting him, and he smiles as she steps through. She never fails to calm him, just the sight of her putting him at ease. Like him, she’s chosen to wear a heavy cloak, though hers is more fur than fabric, an off white that’s been cut to drape over her torso as well as down her back. It’s cinched at her waist with a gold belt, carefully designed to hide the slight swell of her belly. From beneath the fur, a red skirt flows, brighter than his own attire. He has a feeling the rest will be revealed later.

‘My love,’ he greets, extending a hand to her and she smiles, her hand sliding into his. 

‘All is well, I trust?’ she asks, directing the questions to Denethal. The man nods. 

‘Yes, my lady, but the divine…’

‘Will not be kept waiting any longer. Go. We shall meet her in the hall.’

The seneschal nods, bows, and retreats even as Elizabeth tugs at Alistair’s hand.

‘Are you feeling alright?’ she asks, guiding him towards the door.

‘Yes. Just...nervous.’

‘This is the best news we’ve given Ferelden in years.’

‘And maybe the worst we’ve given Artemis and Cullen in a matter of weeks.’

‘There’s nothing we can do to change that. We can only speak with them once this is over and hope.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to tell them first, though?’

‘A little late for that now, my dear. Besides, we hadn’t the chance.’

‘True.’

The door to the hallway is opened for them as they approach, guards in heavy armour watching them carefully as they pass by. In the hall, Leliana waits for them, a small group of guards with her. Even with so few eyes on them, it’s still too many to ignore her position, and they offer small bows.

‘Good evening, your majesties,’ she greets.

‘Apologies for keeping you waiting, Most Holy.’ Alistair smiles.

‘Not at all. I can see you’re both looking your finest for this evening. Worth a little time.’ She sighs. ‘What I would give to wear a fine gown again.’

‘Perhaps one day the opportunity will present itself, My Divine,’ Elizabeth offers. Leliana smiles, in a manner that suggests she believes otherwise.

‘Perhaps. But for now, we’d best get on with this evening’s entertainment.’

‘Thank the Maker, I’m starving,’ Alistair mutters, taking Elizabeth’s hand and she chuckles softly.

With a nod to Leliana, he leads the way with Elizabeth by his side. As they move ever closer to the great hall the murmur of voices grows steadily louder and he pauses before the door. One of the servants pauses with him, waiting for approval, and with an inward groan, he gives his assent.

The servant slips through, and moments later, he hears the tell-tale voice of Denethal rising in the room, calling for quiet, followed by the heavy scrape of wood on stone as chairs are pushed back from tables.

‘Ready, my love?’ he asks his wife and she smiles softly, as ready as she’ll ever be. 

The door opens for them, a guard standing ready to accompany them and he leads the royal couple through the short corridor and into the great hall.

The hall falls silent, every guest that they’ve invited halting, waiting for them, and Alistair casts an eye over the room as surreptitiously as he can, taking in as many faces as possible and where they’re seated. He takes his place at the head of the table, in the centre where everyone can see him, Elizabeth seated to his left, Leliana to his right. To the left of Elizabeth, Arl Eamon has been seated, followed by Isolde, Connor and then Elizabeth’s brother and his new family. To his right, he notices, to his dismay, Teagan has been seated, followed immediately by Artemis and Cullen.

His uncle appears to be just as unhappy with the seating arrangements as Alistair is, and he feels for the man. Still, there’s nothing that can be done now, and he waits for Leliana to take her seat. Once she’s settled, he motions for the rest of the room to seat themselves, waiting the few seconds it takes for everyone to make themselves comfortable.

‘Now or never...’ he thinks, glancing over the faces of those who sit closest to him, the only people whose opinions he truly cares about. Except maybe Isolde.

‘My Lords and Ladies,’ he announces, projecting his voice so that those at the far end of the room can hear him. They’re minor nobles, barely important in any sense of the word, but they need to hear what he has to say as much as anyone else. ‘To start off this evening, I’d like to welcome you all to the Royal Palace and thank you for joining us.’ 

He’s well aware, as everyone in the room is, that every guest had no choice in the matter. One does not simply ignore an invitation from the monarchy, especially one to a feast.

‘Of course you’re all aware that we are honoured to be hosting Divine Victoria for a short time before she begins on her tour around Ferelden, and I’m sure everyone will be delighted to make her Most Holiness feel entirely welcome in our marvellous country.’

There are a few soft cheers from around the room, though it seems that under the presence of the Divine, even the highest of their nobles are somewhat confused as to etiquette.

‘Thank you, King Alistair.’ Leliana smiles. ‘Your hospitality is most kind and I’m looking forward to touring the country again. It’s been far too long.’

Some of the nobles seem to relax a little at that and Alistair’s thankful for the woman’s intervention.

‘The pleasure is all ours, Most Holy. And now I come to the purpose of our inviting you all here tonight.’ He turns to address the room again, all too aware of the eyes of his former lovers on him. ‘I know the past few months, Maker, the past few years have been trying for everyone. The world has gone a little mad as of late, but I’m hopeful that we have signs that things are changing, for the better. 

‘Tonight, my lords and ladies, the Queen and I have invited you to celebrate with us. It’s been… a very, very long time coming, though not for lack of trying.’ He offers a knowing smile to Elizabeth, amused when she smiles gently and rolls her eyes, motioning for him to get back to it.

‘My friends...we are delighted to finally announce, that my lady wife is with child.’

He can’t help the genuine grin that spreads across his face as he turns his eyes on his wife and she smiles back, warm and genuine and it’s enough that for a moment, he forgets where he is, the notion of their little family warming him.

It’s the thunderous applause that pulls him back to the moment, the collected nobility seeming to have forgotten their previous hesitations. There are shouts from the back of the room, cheers of excitement and he catches the eye of Elizabeth’s brother, beaming at his sister. Elizabeth blushes under the attention, practically unheard of for her and she smiles to herself, eyes turned down to her stomach.

Alistair chances a look up, down the line, noting the look of surprise on Isolde’s face with some satisfaction, and the way Eamon seems smugly pleased.

‘Congratulations, Alistair,’ Leliana murmurs, clapping softly, looking past him to smile at his wife.

He turns, thanking her, trying to hide the emotions now running through his chest, pride and warmth warring with his self control, trying to remember that they’re still in public, that he can’t respond to her as freely as he would like. Instead he flits his gaze to his uncle, watching as Teagan leans back into his chair, smiling to himself as if something had been proven right. There’s a glint in his eye, amused, pleased, proud and he makes a note to speak with his uncle more openly later.

His gaze slides on, past Teagan, and his heart stops in his chest at the sight of Cullen and Artemis.

The couple sit stunned, Cullen clapping mechanically, as Artemis tries to force a smile to her face. Something in his chest twists. He’d known, of course, that she had lost her arm. It had been the talk of the nobility for weeks, but he’d tried to avoid noticing it when they had seen them yesterday. Now he can’t help but notice. Nor can he help the need to go to them, to embrace them, longing to apologise, to soothe. 

It must be the biggest kick in the teeth he could have given them to announce his and Elizabeth’s joy when they were still reeling from their own losses.

But then what could he do? The world didn’t stop for anyone.

He slides his gaze from them without meeting either of their eyes, returning his attention to the room, forcing the smile back to his face.

‘I don’t think, for once, that I need to say much more,’ he chuckles when the room has quietened some, ‘but I would ask you to join me in raising a glass to my wife, and to the health of the future heir.’

There’s another cheer and down the lengths of wooden tables, glasses and goblets and tankards are raised with a cheer and eagerly quaffed.

He sits back down, a clear sign that the speech is over, and within moments there are servants appearing with trays laden with food. In just a few minutes, every table is piled with food, and he distracts himself by digging in, encouraging his guests to follow suit. 

Elizabeth slides her hand to his beneath the table, gripping loosely. No doubt she’d noticed what he had and she leans over to whisper in his ear;

‘We’ll speak with them tomorrow. We must.’

He nods, swallowing.

‘Let’s enjoy what we can of tonight.’

‘Right you are, my love.’ He reaches for her, hand drifting to the still subtle curve of her belly, hidden beneath her robe.

She swats his hand lightly.

‘There’s barely anything there, yet,’ she scolds gently, ushering his attention back to his plate before she turns to her own, and for a moment her can only sit and watch as she begins to speak with Eamon and Isolde, calm and controlled as always.

His own heart is pounding still and he controls himself as best as he can, eating heartily. 

When plates are empty and cups have been drained several times over, the evening moves on; to toasts and well wishes from many of their guests, and then, when almost everyone has had their fill of hearing the same congratulations over and over again, to games and music and dancing.

He finds himself moving through crowds of people, chatting amiably, attending to the same conversation every time, until he’s sick of it. He makes to find Elizabeth, locating her in the crowd, speaking softly to a group of noblewoman who coo and gasp, gesturing to her hidden belly.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s interrupting, if she would rather stay and have this conversation until her eyes land on him and she gracefully, if hurriedly, extracts herself from the topic and manoeuvres herself into his arms for a dance.

‘Enjoying yourself, my love?’

She snorts quietly, a most unladylike habit she was prone to expressing whenever she felt she was out of earshot of others.

‘Everyone is so helpful and willing to share their maternity stories. I cannot begin to tell you how delighted I was to hear all the details of Lady Gine’s last childbirth.’

He grimaces.

‘And what do you get? Pats on the back for being a real man.’

‘Well,’ he tosses his head in an exaggerated manner, ‘you did choose to marry such a fine specimen as myself.’

‘Have you been speaking to Zevran recently, by any chance?’

‘If I had, he’d have let you know about it.’

‘True. I did write to him, you know.’

He hums softly. They had already sent letters out to their closest friends, though they didn’t expect to hear much back from most of them.

‘We need to find a way to speak to Artemis and Cullen…’ Elizabeth murmurs, and Alistair sighs.

‘I know. But...how do we even begin to tell them?’

‘I…’

‘Your Majesties…’

A voice interrupts, and they part, somewhat irritated, to look at the newcomer.

‘Ah, Bann Bronagan,’ Elizabeth greets, and Alistair tries to bury his annoyance. 

‘I just wanted to congratulate you both, personally, on the joyous news. Much needed after recent events, I imagine.’

‘We’re delighted, of course,’ Elizabeth answers. Alistair grinds his teeth.

‘I had not expected to see Lady Trevelyan, and the Commander, though I suppose,’ he smiles, the expression not touching his eyes, ‘ it’s Lord and Lady Rutherford now, isn’t it?’

Alistair flounders, the news...well, it was news to him and he glances over to the couple, who are sat with Leliana at the head table still.

‘Well they are accompanying Most Holy, as their new roles dictate.’ Elizabeth nods her head in the direction of the aforementioned couple. ‘It’s the best outcome one could hope for for the Inquisition, I’m sure.’

‘Quite true, your Majesty, quite true. But I would not take anymore of your time. Congratulations again to you both.’

‘Thank you, Bann Bronagan. We shall see you when we next hold court, I hope.’

‘Certainly.’

The man offers a bow and turns tail, disappearing back into the crowd. Alistair growls beneath his breath, trying not to let the expression show, and he turns his gaze back to Cullen and Artemis instead.

‘They married…’ he breathes, watching as Cullen takes Artemis’s remaining hand in his own. 

A sharp jab to his ribs pulls his attention back.

‘Not here, Alistair,’ Elizabeth hisses, motioning to a servant to bring them each a drink. A mug of ale is pressed into his hand a moment later and he takes a long drink, steadying himself in the moment of reprieve it gives him.

‘I could do with some air…’ he murmurs, taking her head and pulling her towards the open doors that lead to the castles walkways. 

‘Thank the Maker,’ Elizabeth breathes as they step out into the sharp air of the night, ‘I could barely hear my own thoughts.’

Alistair hums, turning the news of Artemis and Cullen’s matrimony over in his head.

‘I can’t stand this Liz…this distance from them, this tension when they’re so close. It’s like they’re stuck behind glass and I have no idea how we’re supposed to break it.’

‘Calm thoughts, my love,’ his wife soothes. ‘We shall find a way. Perhaps we should summon Leliana for tea, see if we can make some headway.’

‘Yes...that sounds good.’ He reaches for her, pulling her into his arms with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry Lis. I should be making this easier for you.’

‘Why?’

‘Well...you’re pregnant. Aren’t I supposed to be the one to provide for you, protect you?’

‘My condition does not make me incapable of rational thought, Alistair.’

‘I know, I just...I feel like I’m not pulling my weight here. You have the hard part of carrying him or her.’ He ghosts a hand over her stomach, feeling the barest curve. ‘You shouldn’t have to worry about these things.’

She snorts.

‘Just try to stop me, we’ll see how well that goes.’

He smiles.

‘Oh I wouldn’t dream of it, but, Liz...if you need anything…’

‘You will be the first to know about it. At any rate, you should take this chance to enjoy me as I am. I can all but guarantee that I will use my right as a pregnant mother to make your life unbearable in a few months.’

‘I relish the thought.’

She sighs, chuckling and he pauses, pulling back to brush hair from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

‘I am exhausted though,’ she admits, pressing back into his arms.

‘Then allow me to do something to relieve that.’ 

He pulls from her, heading back into the hall, and calling his guests attention to himself, announcing that they are to retire for the evening. Task complete, he collars a servant.

‘Would you take a message to Most Holy?’

The servant nods, not making eye contact.

‘Tell Divine Victoria that we’d be grateful if she would be willing to take lunch with us in our residence tomorrow. And that we’re happy to cater for all who attend her.’

The servant nods again, scurrying away, and Alistair watches the young man wind through the crowd, appearing at Leliana’s side a moment or two later. The redhead nods at the servant’s words, then looks up, her eyes meeting Alistair’s own instantly and she smiles, inclining her head slightly, accepting.

He retreats from the room, back to where Elizabeth waits for him, and he scoops her into his arms.

‘I’d say that’s quite enough for one day.’

Elizabeth nods quietly, nestling in against him, Barkspawn padding at their side as Alistair wends his way back to their chambers. He has to summon the handmaids for Elizabeth, knowing she won’t be able to free herself from the elaborate gown on her own. And as happy as he is to do the job himself, he knows he wouldn’t be able to do so without damaging it. Far better to leave it to the experts.

He calls his own manservant, allowing the other man to help him remove layers of clothing until he’s left in a light undertunic and breeches, and he shoos him away before making his way to his bathroom to freshen up. When he returns, Elizabeth is already in bed, an open book in her hands. The way her eyes flick up to his tells him that she’s not able to concentrate on it. When his wife got involved in something it would take all but an army storming their palace to break her attention from it.

She closes the book and sets it aside.

‘I do not trust Bann Bronagan. It seems he is always…’

‘A smarmy prick?’ Alistair suggests, helpfully.

Elizabeth smirks.

‘In the right place at the wrong time.’

‘Hmm. It does seem a little odd that he was so close. It could just be chance though.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘We could ask Leliana to lend a spy or two.’

‘I’m sure Leliana has quite enough to contend with as it is. Besides, we are her hosts, we should be ensuring she is safe, not the reverse.’

‘She wouldn’t mind.’

‘I know she wouldn’t. I would still prefer to handle this ourselves. We shall just keep an eye on him, maybe see if any of the servants have information on him.’

‘If you’re certain, my love.’

His wife hums slightly.

‘I had not realised they had wed. We must congratulate them. Maybe see if we can think of a suitable gift for them.’

‘I get the impression the best give we can give them is probably giving them some space. Or...maybe some massage oils.’

‘But we must speak with them.’

He sighs, knowing it all too well. Especially given that Leliana would know exactly what the wording of his invitation meant.

‘I just...I worry we’ll just drive them further away.’

‘As do I. But not explaining to them, not making them understand our actions will not help either. They have to know.’

Alistair slides into bed, heavy furs pressing onto his body as he curls up against Lis, cradling her back to his chest, his free hand finding her all but flat belly. He taps a light rhythm with his fingertips.

‘You’ll give the babe a headache,’ Lis jokes, and despite knowing the words for the jest they are, he halts the nervous drumming. Her hand moves to cover his.

‘Sleep. We both need it.’

He nods absently, feeling her reach over, snuffing out the candle beside the bed.

Sleep doesn’t seem to wish to find him, skirting the edges of his awareness and Lis rolls away from him in her sleep. He buries his face in a pillow, wondering if he can smother himself into his own slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please let me know.
> 
> Comments, kudos and constructive criticism are always greatly appreciated.
> 
> And I'm still loitering on tumblr at http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/ if anyone would like to say hi.
> 
> Till next time :)


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